


Pretend to Be Nice

by seekwill



Series: Interdepartmental Cooperation [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, Bad Decisions, Dating, First Time, Ineffable Bureaucracy (Good Omens), Nonbinary Beelzebub (Good Omens), Other, Pining, Protective Gabriel, Relationship Negotiation, Size Kink, They/Them Pronouns for Beelzebub (Good Omens), two bad people being bad together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-02-19 02:04:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 57,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22536805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seekwill/pseuds/seekwill
Summary: Dr. Aaron Gabriel and Dr. Beelzebub Prince are the chairs of rival departments at Tadfield College. Also, they're dating. Or, not. They're doing something. They don't evenlikeone another. Or maybe they do. They're working on it, okay?A continuation of the events ofGolden Handcuffs.
Relationships: Beelzebub/Gabriel (Good Omens)
Series: Interdepartmental Cooperation [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1621573
Comments: 400
Kudos: 377
Collections: Ixnael’s Recommendations





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> You don't have to read all 70k words of the Golden Handcuffs to understand the backstory for this version of Gabriel and Beelzebub, but it doesn't hurt. Here are the cliff-notes:
> 
> Tadfield College is a small, elite university in southwest Scotland. Dr. Aaron Gabriel is the chair of the English Department. Dr. Beelzebub (Beez) Prince is the chair of the Biology Department. For the past several months they have been working on developing an interdisciplinary course together. On New Year's Eve, Dr. Gabriel asked Dr. Prince to dinner, and they said no, then asked if they could change their mind. This story picks up in the not too distant future.
> 
> Enjoy!

“Okay.”

Aaron looked up from his computer screen to Dr. Prince standing in the doorway. It had been nearly two months since the two of them had spoken. He’d seen them in the hallways, smoking out behind the athletic centre. Sometimes they’d nod at him, expressionless. Other times they didn’t acknowledge him at all. He raised his eyebrows, but otherwise kept his face in neutral. “‘Okay’ what?”

“Okay,” they repeated.

He signed, annoyed. “Yeah, that’s not answering my question. You can’t walk into my office, say ‘okay’ and expect me to know what you’re talking about.” He did wonder, of course, if this were about -

“You asked me out to dinner. I’m saying ‘okay.’” Something cracked on Beez’s face, just for a second. Their placid exterior revealed some anxiety, something inside them had skirted too close to the uncertain.

“That was eight weeks ago.” 

“Is the offer rescinded?” They scoffed at him but there was no heart in it. Beez was putting on a show, but Aaron couldn’t tell if it was for him or for them.

He leaned back in his chair, staring them down. Did they know how to talk to someone without turning it into a fight? Did he? This whole thing was deeply and unnecessarily vexing. Tadfield was a small place but it wasn’t like he didn’t have things, people to keep him busy. People who were nice to him! Women who offered to make him breakfast and slunk away when he told them he was _really busy and just didn’t have time for a relationship right now_. He was Aaron fucking Gabriel. He didn’t need to be toyed with by some morose biologist who barely came up to his goddamned hip.

And yet -

“... no.” The eight-week-old offer was still as good as the moment it had been issued. There was no expiry date. It was pathetic.

Beez nodded, and their shoulders came down from around their ears, the only sign that some tension or anxiety was shaking loose. “I’m free next Friday,” they said, in a way that made it sound like a directive.

He didn’t want to submit that quickly. He turned back to his computer. “I’ll check my cal-”

“Just text me the details,” they interrupted. “I have to teach a class.”

As they disappeared from the doorway Aaron threw up his hands in frustration. It would have been so easy to tell them to fuck off. To say _yeah the offer has been rescinded, you ghoul_. Easy, except his stomach did an uncomfortable and inescapable lurch each time he saw them. Easy, except on those mornings where Sarah, or Syrah, or whatever her name was had stayed over and he looked at her unmarked back, and thought about the tattoos he’d see on Beez’s back when they were in Stirling, their thin frame and birdlike shoulders. He thought about what their black shock of hair would look like on the pillow next to his.

He shook off the reverie, admonished himself for the sentimentality. He just liked a challenge, is all. That was it.

He looked at his calendar and saw a block on Friday night. Dinner with Saira. _Saira_ , that was it. He grabbed his phone and shot her a text.

**hey - can’t do dinner friday. work is so busy.**

The phone buzzed with a response immediately.

**No problem! Let’s reschedule?**

He never texted her back.

* * *

Why he expected anything different, he didn’t know.

They were in the car, driving two towns over to one of the few restaurants he ever bothered with. Most restaurants within a thirty minute drive seemed to think that food wasn’t edible unless it was deep fried, and as a result he usually cooked for himself. It had taken long enough to even get Beez to agree to this though. An invite to his place would’ve sent the whole thing sideways.

He’d picked them up from campus, where they apparently did not live, but had opted to stay late on Friday, and started in his desired direction.

“We’re headed west a bit. Vegetarian spot. I’m vegan, by the way.”

They’d looked at him and pulled a grimace. “You would be.” Then they’d turned to the window and watched the farmland pass by, saying nothing else.

And so the entire drive was in silence. Did he think they’d have a good chat? Really get into it? Reveal their fucking childhood traumas? This was a bad idea. He had half a mind to pull a u-turn and head back to the village. But he didn’t. _If nothing else_ , he thought, _I can have a decent salad_. No restaurant in the village knew how to make a salad without putting bacon and cheese onto it.

As they reached their destination and he began to parallel park, Beez finally broke their silence. “D’you just like animals a lot?”

He had his hand on the back of their seat and he was angled backwards, trying to make sure his car didn’t sideswipe the parking meter. His eyes dropped down to them. “Huh?”

“The vegan thing. You a real animal lover?”

Christ, they were tiny. He wondered if there was some sort of weight limit to sitting in the front seat. His sister back in Seattle still had her twelve year old in a car seat in the back (or maybe the kid was eight, he couldn’t remember). What did Beez weigh? Ninety pounds? “No. Health reasons. Dairy is really bad for you.”

Beez snorted. “Is it?” They asked sarcastically.

“Yeah,” he said, putting the car into park. “Meat too. Clogs the arteries.”

They snorted again. “Who told you that?”

“There’s lots of evidence.”

“Is there?”

“Yes.” He looked down at them and they met his gaze without hesitation. Their lips formed a firm, straight line, but their eyes were doing something unfamiliar. There was a smile there, some mischievous thing that made him want to not get out of the car, not interrupt it. Their eyes, he saw for the first time, were a dark green, ringed with brown. It suited them.

“Fuck’s sake. At least I could respect it if it was because you felt sad about cows or something. Evidence, ha!” And with that Beez got out of the car.

He groaned in frustration, and followed them into the restaurant.

He hung their coat up while the server prepared their table, and finally saw what they were wearing. Slim fitting ankle length black slacks and a black sweater that fit like a tunic, even though he thought it probably wasn’t supposed to. The sleeves were too long. They kept pushing the cuffs up to their elbows, revealing their tattoos, then the sleeves would slide back down. A small sisyphean habit. Their hair was as it usually was, in a short stiff ponytail. They looked like a small, slightly put out shadow. 

He’d thrown on a white cashmere sweater and jeans at home, and was glad he hadn’t made an attempt to dress up. They both looked as if they had done exactly the same level of caring about this. (Aaron had considered changing his sweater but wouldn’t let himself.)

When they were seated with menus in hand, Aaron watched Beez’s eyes flick over the offerings with disinterest.

“What’s decent here?” They asked, leaning back in their seat, eyes not leaving the placard in their hands.

“I get the beetroot salad, it’s excellent. The jackfruit cubano is better than you’d find in the city.”

“Right,” said Beez, putting the menu down as the server approached.

“Have we decided?” asked the waitress. This one was new. She smiled down at Aaron in the way that lots of waitresses smiled down at him.

“Falafel wrap,” said Beez with finality, thrusting the menu at the girl.

“Beetroot salad, no feta. I’m vegan.”

“Because of the evidence.”

His head snapped towards them. “Excuse me?”

“Tell the nice girl about the evidence that made you a vegan.” They brought their water glass to their lips, their amused eyes glinting up at him.

“Em, sorry?” The waitress said uneasily.

“Nothing. Just, ignore them. Can I get a bottle of whatever the house red is right now?” He turned back to the table as the waitress began to move back to the kitchen, and then realized and caught himself. “Wait, shit. Nevermind. No bottle. Just a glass. A six ounce.”

He waited for the waitresses nod of confirmation then turned back to the table. Beez’s eyes were wide.

“What?” he asked. “You don’t drink. I wasn’t going to have an entire bottle then drive back.”

“Didn’t think you’d remembered.” The lack of bite in their voice caught him off guard. They almost sounded like a normal person.

He smiled tightly, but found he couldn’t meet their gaze while he did it. He turned to look out the front window to the street. “Why did you even ask me what was good here if you were just going to get the falafel wrap? You can get a falafel wrap in the village.” He looked back now. The role of adversary was a comfortable one.

“I like falafel,” they said.

“Can’t get a jackfruit cubano in the village.”

“I don’t even know what the fuck those two words mean together. Great date this is, by the way, having to defend liking falafel. Everyone likes falafel.”

 _Date_. They had acknowledged that this was a date. Aaron felt like he had won something.

Service was quick and soon they had their meals in front of them.

“How is it?” Aaron asked, after Beez had taken a bite.

“It’s a falafel. It’s fine.” They said.

“Enjoying your meal?”

Aaron went to wave the waitress away, but when he looked up - “Sarah.”

“It’s Saira.” The woman’s nostrils flared in irritation. He hadn’t seen her when he’d come in. She must’ve been in the dining room on the other side of the bar. She’d texted him several times since last week, then he’d blocked her number. “Thought you were _really busy_ with work,” she said sarcastically.

Another woman stood behind her. A friend probably. Moral support. He’d never met her friends. They’d gone out to dinner once then she’d stayed at his place a few times. He hoped she’d just disappear like the rest of them had. 

He glanced over to Beez who watched the scene in front of them bright eyed and open mouthed.

“Listen,” he said, leaning towards Saira and attempting to sound as smooth and soothing as possible. “We had a good time, right? Don’t make this a thing.”

“Don’t make this a thing? It’s really fucking rude to ghost someone.” Then she looked over to Beez and her eyes traced their form from head to toe. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Wow, alright,” said Beez, putting their cutlery down.

“Fuck you,” he said at the same time, the words hot and swift as a knife. The absolute speed at which he’d become angry surprised even him. He took a deep breath, people were starting to turn in their direction. “You’re making a scene. Get out.”

“Don’t,” Saira said, making a quick calculation, “tell me what to do!” With her final word she grabbed Aaron’s glass of wine and splashed it dead into the centre of his chest. Then she and her friend turned on their heels and hightailed it out of the restaurant.

He brought his hand to his chest. It looked like he’d been shot and was bleeding out. 

“Em, here. Here.” Beez was pressing their cloth napkin into Aaron’s hands. “I suspect that sweater is done for.”

“Thanks, yeah. You’re probably right.” He pressed the napkin uselessly to his chest, and the waitress hurried over, brandishing paper napkins and a glass of club soda.

“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry,” she said again and again.

“What are you apologizing for?” said Beez, standing and taking the napkins. They dipped a napkin in club soda and tried to soak up some of the wine from Aaron’s sweater. “Not like _you_ threw wine all over him.”

Aaron found himself frozen with Beez’s small, thin hands pressed into his chest. It was clinical, perfunctory, but they were touching him, and they had not done that before. Their skin was pulled taut over their knuckles, their fingernails had a bluish tint. Were they cold, he wondered.

Beez turned back to the waitress. “Hey, can you bring us some boxes? We’ll pack our stuff up and take it away.”

“You want to leave?” he asked, as the waitress walked back to the kitchen.

“You want to stay here with a full glass of wine on your jumper? Denims too, by the looks of it.” 

He looked into his lap and cursed. They were right. “Guess not.”

Then he heard a strange little huff, and looked up.

Beez’s face had cracked into a full smile, and they were laughing. Not like, a normal, nice laugh, but a breathy, high pitched snicker. “Nice restaurant. Great dinner. Didn’t know there’d be entertainment.”

“Fuck you,” he said, smiling. He’d never heard them laugh before, and now that he’d seen it, he didn’t think he’d seen them smile like that before either. Not like they were genuinely enjoying themself.

The waitress returned with their boxes, and they packed their things and left.

The drive back to the village was as quiet as the drive there, but the mood was different, less oppressive than before. Occasionally his eyes would drift from the road to Beez’s arms held against their chest, then they’d catch him looking and stare back in a silent challenge, with their lips fighting a smile.

Aaron had often, over the course of his life, framed his approach to dating like a game. There were rules and challenges and places where exceptions could be made. Most importantly, there was winning and losing. He usually won, and when he did he got bored and wanted a new game to play. He’d won Raphaela, who had been a brilliant professor, and aloof and flinty and independant. He’d won when she moved in, then he’d lost spectacularly when barely a year later she left him to go to Harvard, without even a discussion. 

At the time he’d told his sister about the breakup as casually as he could manage, and she asked distractedly if he was okay, clearly wrangling one of her children on the other end of the line. 

“Yeah, pride’s a bit bruised, but you know me,” he’d said.

The truth was that it had been more than his pride that had taken a beating. He had half considered asking Raphaela to marry him, which had never been on the table for him before. He didn’t even want to get married, he had just wanted her around. But he didn’t, and she left. So, it was what it was.

That had been six months ago now. More. And so he’d thrown himself back into the game. There had been a string of girls, women, and it was fine. When he wasn’t getting assaulted with wine, it was fine.

And yet somehow, getting some sort of half-almost-smile from Beez felt like more of a win then getting Saira, or any other woman into bed had. Beez, who was explicitly not his type. Beez, who had spent their entire professional relationship looking down their nose at him (figuratively, of course, he had a foot and a half on them).

“Come back to mine,” he said, not thinking about the full implications of that request. He didn’t let himself look in their direction this time, keeping his gaze firmly on the road in front of him.

“Oh, um. I don’t know. No.”

Well, fuck. He began to calculate his response. Did he ask why or did he act like he didn’t care?

“Got an 8am class tomorrow,” they continued, something muted in their tone.

“Yeah, right,” Aaron said. It almost sounded petulant, which was not the mood he had hoped to strike. He sighed, tried to shake the disappointment off his shoulders. He had been reasonably confident Beez would come home with him, even if he hadn’t planned past that, not really.

When it came to Beez he let himself picture the before, then the morning after, but there was a blank space in between. Beez was unpredictable and hard to read. He didn’t know what they’d want or how they’d act and that was usually something he was pretty good at sussing out right from the beginning. Nothing about them was conventional, and all he knew was conventional. He would be going in blind, so he couldn’t find it in himself to conjure some fantasy that wouldn’t be anywhere near where the two of them might end up. Everything they were was unknown territory for him.

It would remain unknown territory, apparently.

“I’ll take you home. Just, tell me where to go.” The signs indicating they were only a few miles out from the village lit up in the headlights and passed by the car.

“You don’t have to do that,” they said.

Something about that set off a flare in him, and he huffed an aggressive breath through his nose. “Listen, I know I’m not a fucking angel, alright, but I’m not going to leave you here on the side of the road because you don’t want to come back to my place. Christ.”

Out of the corner of his eye he could see them looking at him, but he couldn’t place the expression on their face. “You’re not interested. You get to be not interested. We’ll just go back to being colleagues, or whatever.” Petulant. He was more disappointed than he thought he’d be, and he wasn’t good at hiding it.

After a moment they cleared their throat and broke the tense silence in the car. Aaron felt his spine stiffen. “Turn left up here.”

He followed their instructions until he reached the very end of a long country lane, and pulled into the drive of a small stone cottage, barely visible in the pitch dark of the winter night. As the car approached the threshold, one of those automatic motion sensor lights came on, illuminating the dark green front door, and the rough, hand painted sign that read _Thistle’s End_.

Beez undid their seatbelt and placed their hand on the door handle.

“‘Night,” Aaron said, biting back a sigh.

They didn’t open the door. “It’s not that I’m not interested.” Their face stayed turned to the door, and Aaron turned to them, their back rising and falling with deep breaths. 

He said nothing.

“I’m interested. But I don’t, uh…” They trailed off, still looking away. “I have no fucking idea how this works.” They gave the door of the car a few nervous knocks with their hand, and turned to look out the front windshield. The light by the door lit their profile in silhouette. “This doesn’t make a lot of sense to me.”

Aaron leaned back in his seat, kept his hands on the wheel. “Have you… never dated before?”

“ _Have I never fucking dated before?_ Fuck off. ‘Course I have.” Beez huffed a frustrated sigh and dipped their head back against the seat. “It’s this, specifically, that I don’t get.” They gestured their hand quickly between the two of them, as if to say _us two_.

Aaron threw up his hands. “What is there to get? Why do you have to _get_ anything?”

They turned to him then, and they were as nervous as he’d ever seen them. “When I don’t understand something I don’t trust it.”

With sudden clarity he knew exactly what they were telling him. He scrubbed his face with the palm of his hand. “You don’t trust me.”

“I don’t know you.”

“Yeah, I know that’s why… that’s why people date.”

They let out a bitter chuckle. “Yeah, maybe.”

Beez sat perfectly still. They were right, this didn’t make sense. It was just that he didn’t care. He didn’t need to read into it. He didn’t need to analyze his every desire, even if this most recent one lived so far outside his comfort zone it was like speaking a different language. But in watching them he knew, if this thing was going to be anything past this moment, he had to be careful about it. More careful than he had been about anything. 

He didn’t know how to be careful with things. But, he could give it a shot.

“You’re not getting out of the car,” he said, watching them intently.

“Do you want me to?”

“No.”

Where the collar of their jacket dipped down, he thought he saw them swallow.

“Can I touch you?” Aaron asked, and they turned to look at him, eyes wide in trepidation.

“How?”

“Can you try to trust me for a second?” Beez was like a rabbit caught in a trap that he was trying to set free, trying to figure out some gesture that would tell it he didn’t mean it any harm. “If you don’t like it I’ll stop. But I’m not going to… just, trust me.”

Their eyes searched his face, and then with an almost imperceptible dip of their chin, they consented. He wanted to grin, but he bit it back. No teeth. Again, it felt like he had won.

He reached his hand across to them, and as gentle as he could, brought his hand to the back of their neck, and rested it there. He cradled their skull between his thumb and forefinger, marvelling at how small it was. Beez’s bones felt hollow, like he could crack them in two with a twist of his fingers. He felt something about that. 

He thought that maybe he’d feel stronger for it, more powerful, but it wasn’t anything like that at all. Conversely, he felt at their mercy, and very much humbled.

Beez let their head press back against his hand and something twisted in his gut. He wanted to pull them to him, into his lap, kiss them. Fuck, he wanted his tongue in Beez’s mouth to feel the sharp edge of their teeth. He wanted to crush their weird little bird body to his and feel their fingernails dig into him. His mouth went dry. The intensity of the want caught him off guard, but he made no moves.

That, he knew, would be too much. If he moved a muscle now, they’d be out of the car and this would be done. This game had different rules and he’d never played before.

He pulled his hand away, the scratch of their coarse black hair still living on his palm.

“Okay,” he said. “Was that okay?”

“It was fine,” they said, face stubbornly neutral. Then, “Good night.” Moving quickly, they opened the door and climbed out, shutting it harder than polite.

He rolled down the passenger side window and leaned over the place they’d sat just seconds before. He watched as they walked up to their front door.

“Hey,” he called. “Let’s do this again.”

Beez put their key in the door, opened it, then looked halfway over their shoulder. “Yeah, alright.” The door closed to him, and they were gone.

It was a win.


	2. Chapter 2

He hadn’t texted, or even e-mailed since Friday night, and now it was Monday. And that was fine. It wasn’t like they were broken up about it. They were busy. They had taken over an additional class after Professor Dagon had gone on maternity leave and the Biology department was anticipating an external review in the next six months so it wasn’t like they had time for anything else anyway.

The cottage was a mess. It had reached the point that they were sheepish about having someone else come in to take care of it, so that was on the list. Their bike needed a spring tune up and there was no way they were going to outsource that. Then there were the conference proposals and their brother’s wedding was in Edinburgh in April (very inconveniently in the middle of the exam period). They were very, very busy. 

So if they could just stop checking their phone for text messages every twenty minutes that would be brilliant.

Beelzebub growled at themself as they picked up their phone again. No notifications. Exactly as it had been the last time they looked at it. They put it face down on their desk, swiveled their chair back to their computer screen to finish an email, when they heard the buzzing noise.

Even without an audience, they were instantly embarrassed at how quickly they moved, not that it led to any moderation. They had snatched up their phone at a speed previously unmeasured by scientists. A text, one text. They opened it up and… fuck’s sake.

**Gemma wants to know if you’re wearing black to the wedding. Please don’t wear black.**

Beelzebub wasn’t even in the wedding party (they weren't asked, and they wouldn’t have said yes if they were) yet they seemed to be drawn into all sorts of wedding related nonsense. Previous requests from their brother Damien included that they brush their hair, that they make a speech alongside the other siblings at the rehearsal dinner, and could they please,  _ please _ be on time.

They had half a mind not to go. And their annoyance was only compounded now that the text they had received was not from the desired recipient. 

**I can see you’ve read this. You have read receipts on. Please do not wear black to the wedding. At least for pictures.**

They scrunched their nose and sent a response: **K.**

They’d wear whatever they bloody well pleased.

With a sigh, they opened the brief series of texts they had exchanged with Aaron. The last one - " **here** " \- was sent on Friday night before he picked them up from the school to go to what had turned out to be a very eventful dinner. They stared at the screen a moment, willing a grey speech bubble with three blinking dots to appear. Nothing. Groaning, they smacked their forehead with the phone. Pathetic. They were truly pathetic.

They didn’t even like him.

“Carmine?” they yelled to the other side of their office door. 

The door squeaked open and the redhead leaned in, having rolled over on her chair from her desk. “Yes, Professor?”

“Call Aaron Gabriel’s EA and see if he’s in his office.”

Carmine nodded and rolled away, having been Beelzebub’s executive assistant long enough to know to avoid asking follow-up questions. Beelzebub took a pen in their hand, clicked the lever on the top rapidly with their thumb, tried to read an e-mail, and failed.

“He’s in,” called Carmine from the other side of the wall.

Without thinking, which seemed to be their default mode as of late, Beelzebub grabbed their lunch from under their desk and left their office, walking at what they hoped was a casual pace towards the stairwell. 

They climbed to the fifth floor and made a beeline towards Aaron’s office. Their path was entirely unobstructed, with students and staff seemingly sensing Beelzebub’s stormy presence and giving them a wide berth.

Aaron’s EA was gone now, her chair empty, and Beelzebub was thankful that an obstacle had been removed from their path, that there weren’t more witnesses for this surprise appearance. They put their hand on the handle of the door bearing an engraved plaque with Dr. Gabriel’s name, took a breath, and opened it.

“What is it now, Elizab-” He spun in his chair and abruptly stopped speaking when his eyes landed on Beelzebub. “Beez.” He wasn’t smiling, but he didn’t look annoyed or mad. Mostly stunned.

“Do you normally eat lunch now?” they asked.

He picked up his phone to look at the time. “I  _ take _ lunch now,” he said. “Don’t usually eat though.” 

Beelzebub raised an eyebrow.

“Intermittent fasting,” Aaron provided.

Was there any sort of fad diet this man didn’t adhere to? “Let me guess, eating lunch is bad for you?”

“It’s more that fasting is good for you.”

“Right, right. All the evidence I’ve heard so much about.” With their eyes on the ground, they could sense Aaron smiling. They slid into a chair across from him, an uncomfortable chrome and leather thing. Was making your adversaries uncomfortable something from the Art of War? It seemed like it might be. He seemed like the kind of asshole who would read the Art of War. The chair was just high enough that their legs dangled slightly, toes just grazing the hardwood floor.

Beelzebub curled their legs up under them, and opened the plastic shopping bag holding their lunch.

“Are you going to eat here?” Aaron asked, and they turned their face up to him. He was smiling, all white teeth and Hollywood features.

“D’you want me to leave?” they asked, challenging him with their eyes, mouth drawn in a straight line. 

“I didn’t say that. What’s for lunch?”

They unwrapped the wax paper and held up a sandwich.

“And what’s on that?”

“Poloney.” Beelzebub said, taking a bite and relishing the look of genuine anguish that came to Aaron’s face.

“Is that it?” he said, leaning back in his chair and bringing his folded hands to his lips.

Beelzebub reached into the bag and pulled out the end of a sleeve of digestive biscuits.

“How do you not have scurvy? Do you ever eat vegetables?”

“Not if I can help it.”

He laughed then, throwing his head back, then scrubbed a hand down his face.

Beelzebub had a flashback - that hand reaching across the car and coming around the back of their neck. It was difficult to reconcile both the profound ache of wanting and also terror that lived inside of them as Aaron’s fingers had settled there, hot on their skin. It was a strange thing to be wanted like that. So strange their first impulse was to reject it out of hand.

( _ “Come back to mine.” “Oh, um. I don’t know. No.” _ )

The last time they’d be touched had been a conference hook-up. A zoologist from France whom Beelzebub had known casually for years. A late night conversation at the hotel bar and the two of them had stumbled back to Beelzebub’s room where the sex had been fine, and perfunctory. They’d sent the zoologist back to her own room and the next day they both acted as if nothing had happened. It had suited Beelzebub, really. But had they felt wanted? No. They’d felt convenient. But they weren’t bent up about it. The zoologist probably felt the same.

There had been no heated requests, no skipped heart beats, no breath held in anxiety or anticipation. It had been quick and clean and fine. Beelzebub suspected this thing that was playing out with Aaron would not be any of those things.

The truth of the matter was they hadn’t determined what exactly it was they wanted out of it. A fling with a colleague seemed a bad idea. A longer term relationship had never been on their personal checklist. And either of those things with Aaron was laden with additional baggage. Then there was the matter of what  _ he _ wanted, which was all the more baffling. 

But here they were, in Aaron Gabriel’s office, quietly pleased they’d gotten him to laugh.

When they parted forty minutes later, neither of them made any plans or requests. Not even a see you later. But the next day, when noon rolled around, Beelzebub found themself ascending to the fifth floor again, and like the day before they entered Aaron’s office uninvited and he looked up from his computer, stunned, but for a shorter time.

They ate, he didn’t. He gave them shit about the bag they carried lunch in.

“Why don’t you buy an actual lunch bag instead of using that thing from Waitrose. It’s falling apart. It’s gross.”

“Why would I buy something I have for free?”

On Wednesday they were back again, but Aaron looked like he was expecting them.

Then on Thursday, he leaned over his desk and handed them a shopping bag from Marks & Spencer.

“What’s this?” they asked, eyeing the bag suspiciously.

“Take it or I’m going to drop it,” he shot back.

They dropped their lunch (the fourth poloney sandwich that week) on his desk and took the bag, placing it in their lap. “Tell me what’s in here before I open it.”

“Arsenic,” he said, straight-faced.

“Finally,” they responded, “something to release me from this mortal coil.” Reluctantly, they peeked into the bag, and something caught in their throat. “When’d you get this?”

Aaron shrugged. “Last night.”

From the bag they withdrew a small, black, zippered lunch bag. “I have a lunch bag,” Beelzebub said, nodding at what they’d left on Aaron’s desk.

“That’s not a lunch bag, it’s a cry for help.”

They unzipped it. Inside was a small matching thermos. “It’s small,” they muttered.

“Yes,” he replied. “It’s for children.”

Beelzebub shot Aaron a dirty look. Their first instinct was to toss it back over the desk. Spit  _ don’t buy me things _ with a sneer and savagely grab back their lunch and leave. They didn’t need anyone buying things for them. But when they went to do it, their words left them, their fingers stayed clutched to the laminated fabric of the bag.

Instead, they slipped it back in the shopping bag and placed it on the floor in front of them. They picked up their lunch again, and began to eat their sandwich. “Have you finished writing up the exams for your classes yet?” they asked between bites, staring at their lap.

He laughed, letting the awkwardness of the earlier exchange dissipate. “Fuck, no. I never have those done by the deadline.”

On Friday, things fell apart. Carmine was out sick and a million stupid things seemed to happen at once. The Dean dropped by unexpectedly with questions about accreditation. The bulb in the projector in the lecture hall had burnt out, and Beelzebub was left scribbling notes on the board, balancing precipitously on a chair to reach the top half, everything taking three times as long as they scooted left to right. Then at 11:30, Professor Ligur dropped a student file on their desk, with a plagiarism allegation against a student. With the end of the term rapidly approaching, it couldn’t wait for Carmine to get back. The case had to be investigated now. With a frustrated sigh they opened up the file.

They’d been digging through the student’s records when there was a knock at their door.

“Busy!” they yelled as they examined a printout of the student’s academic history. The door opened anyway and they frantically slammed the file shut. “What part of ‘busy’ suggested it was an invitation?”

Aaron peered around the opened door. “Hey,” he said, neutrally.

Beelzebub’s eyes flicked to the clock at the corner of their computer screen. 12:20. “Oh,” they said.

“Everything okay down here?” He took a step into the office, shooting an uncomfortable glance towards the terrariums near the wall, where some of Beelzebub’s specimens lived.

“Did we have an appointment?” asked Beelzebub, as if they hadn’t been arriving at Aaron’s office at 12:01 sharp for the past four days.

He frowned then opened his mouth, likely to say something to that effect, when his gaze shifted and then he didn’t speak at all. Beelzebub followed his gaze and saw it had landed, quite firmly, on the lunchbox he had given them the day before. He pointed at it, then looked at them.

“So,” he said.

They hauled the lunch box off the desk and threw it underneath their chair, and out of sight. “So, what?” came the retort.

He smirked. “So what are you doing tonight?”

Could Aaron see the way they seized up when he asked, the dry swallow of their throat? “I need to check my calendar.” They didn’t. They were doing what they did most Friday nights, which was nothing.

“How about I make you dinner? At my place.” Then, after a beat he added, “just dinner.”

They shifted in their chair.  _ Yes _ sat on their tongue, ready to be given air but they choked it back. Why did they do that? Why were they fighting something they were curious about? Bringing their thumb to their lips, they chewed on their nail.

“C’mon, Beez.”

Beelzebub looked up at Aaron, shoulders slumped and hands out.

“It’s just dinner.”

They looked back to the file on their desk, opened it. “Fine.”

“Fine?”

“Yeah. Fine. Dinner.” They couldn’t look back up at him.

There was an almost silent sigh of relief from the English department chair. “Seven? I’ll text you my address.”

“Alright,” they said. 

Aaron smiled at them. A smug smile they had hated.  _ Had. _

“Can you go? I wasn’t lying when I said I was busy when you knocked.” 

“Right. See you at seven.”

He left closing the door behind him. Beelzebub dropped their head into the student file, and groaned.

* * *

They rode their bike there. Little cold for it, and they still hadn’t tuned it up, but there was no way Beelzebub was going to ask for a ride, and they needed a way of leaving on their own. The cold air nipped at their cheeks and nose as they rode into the village, dodging parked cars and residents who didn’t bother to look before they crossed the road. They headed east off the rotary, then down a lane past a row of stone houses. When they reached Aaron’s place, they laughed.

It was a modern thing and little of the original house remained. Large windows, rock garden. It stood out like a sore thumb amongst the neighbours. They wondered how he’d gotten the permit for renovations that drastic. There was no way he’d bought it like this. Only someone like Aaron would have chosen to disfigure a Scottish cottage in such a ridiculous way. They leaned their bike up against the gate and walked slowly up to the front door.

With each step towards the house, their earlier amusement slipped away, and their heart hammered louder in their ears. They felt a little sick. On second thought, this was a terrible idea. They were going to turn around, hop on their bike and-

The door swung open.

“Hi.” Aaron stood on the threshold, sporting a short sleeve t-shirt, denims, and bare feet.

“Uh, hi,” they replied. They kicked at the paving stone they stood on with the toe of their boot.

“It’s cold. Come in.”

They nodded, and walked past him into the house.

Like his office, like everything about him, the house was minimalist and well designed. Almost everything was white with blond wood accents, sort of Scandinavian inspired. It was spotlessly tidy, not a knick knack or tchotchke in sight. Lots of books, organized by colour, size. It was a highly disciplined space. There was a fire going in the hearth.

“Give me your coat.”

They turned to face him, certain they must have looked entirely agog. They slipped off their coat and handed it to him. He gave them a quick look up and down, before hanging the coat up in the wardrobe.

Suddenly Beelzebub realized they were in the same black jumper they’d worn to dinner last week. Aaron was going to think they had one ‘date’ sweater. Which didn’t matter. They didn’t care. 

“I’m just working on dinner. Come with me to the kitchen.”

The kitchen was an extension of the sitting room, and was like something from an interior design magazine. Stainless steel and quartz. Everything looked brand new but Aaron clearly knew the space and equipment well, moved around it with ease. He opened a pot on the stove and a plume of steam rose into the air, followed by a heady smell that hit them in the back of their nose.

“You’re quiet,” Aaron said, stirring whatever was in the pot.

Beelzebub felt like soot someone had tracked in, muddying up the space. “You could perform surgery in here,” they blurted, chuckling nervously, wrapping their hands around their slim biceps. “Looks sterile enough.”

“And get blood on the sofa? No.”

This was okay. Sparring was okay. “Honestly, it would be an improvement. Could use some colour in here.”

“Says the person who only wears black.”

“Black’s more of a colour than white.”

“How’s that?”

“It’s got more… character.”

He laughed then, and let his gaze linger on them. “You wanna sit down? You’re making me nervous. Looks like you’re about to run out of here.”

_ Maybe I will, might be better that way _ , they thought as they sidled up to the island where the range was and pulled out a stool. It was ludicrously high. 

“Is everyone you know six and a half feet tall?” they asked, trying to calculate how best to get themselves on to it without embarrassing themself.

“No, I bought that stool specifically to humiliate you.” 

They made to shoot him a dark look but he was coming around the island and then - “Oi!” - he’d put his hands on their waist and lifted them onto the stool, planting them firmly there. And then he was back around, taking something out of the oven.

“You… you can’t just -” Their sides burned from where his alarmingly large hands had been, slotted in above their hips, wrapped around their rib cage.

“Alas, I did” he said, placing whatever he had pulled out of the oven on a trivet. He opened up the aluminum foil with tongs. Naan.

Their heart was pittering about pathetically in their chest. He was bigger than them, obviously. At the same time they hadn’t quite imagined him that strong, or rather, they hadn’t imagined the nature of his strength at all. But he’d picked them up like they were a newspaper, light as air and effortless. Their mouth was suddenly dry.

“Did your mother never tell you to offer your guests a drink?”

He looked up and his cheeks went pinkish. “Shit. Sparkling water? Tap?” He opened the fridge. “Not a lot of variety.”

“Sparkling,” they said.

He pulled out a small green glass bottle, and handed them that, followed by a tall, clearly very expensive glass. Everything he had seemed expensive. They picked at their jumper, pilling with wear underneath the sleeves.

They watched him finish up cooking, moving smoothly from one task to the next, somehow timing each step so none of them overlapped. Everything about Aaron seemed a bit mechanical, built by intelligent design. Highly competent, efficient, a well oiled instrument. When Beelzebub put themself beside him, it was a study in contrasts - an untamed whirlwind to a highly systematic perpetual motion machine. 

It wasn’t that they thought they were less than him, not at all. Beelzebub knew their own mind, knew who they were, and they weren’t less than anything. But the more differences were revealed, the more unsettled they were by the strange mismatch of the two of them. They would look at Aaron and no matter the initial direction of their train of thought, they always ended up in the same place: what is he playing at?

Aaron filled two bowls with rice and a deep yellow curry, put the naan on a platter and slid it towards them across the island. 

Beelzebub pressed their hands between their thighs and leaned forward to smell their dinner. They leaned back, screwed their mouth up. They hadn’t ever been known for particularly adventurous eating habits.

“What’s wrong?” asked Aaron, swinging around them and sliding onto the other stool. “Do you not like curry?”

“It smells spicy,” said Beelzebub, skeptical.

“It’s not spicy, it’s seasoned,” said Aaron, raising his eyebrows. “Though I wouldn’t expect you to know the difference. Just try it.” He took his fork, speared a vegetable (a courgette, maybe) slathered in curry sauce, and held it up in front of Beelzebub’s face.

Beelzebub laughed, but it sounded like they were choking. “Are you trying to feed me?”

“I’m trying to get you to try the fucking curry. Expand your horizons.”

“Who says my horizons need expanding?” The courgette still hovered inches from their mouth.

“Listen, would you just try this fucking food I made for you already?” His voice wavered somewhere between exasperated and amused.

Food he had made for them. Beelzebub couldn’t remember the last time someone had made a meal for them outside of a restaurant. With hesitant fingers they reached up and took the fork from Aaron’s hand, carefully avoiding touching his fingertips. One thing at a time. 

“Don’t try to feed me,” they said. “I’m not a child.”

“Really? Because you have the palette of a four-year-old kid.”

Conscious that Aaron was watching them, they took a small bite of the courgette, holding their hand underneath it to catch any crumbs or drips of curry. It was… fine, actually. Good, maybe. 

“How is it?” he asked, feigning casualness. They could feel him staring.

“Not terrible.”

“Not terrible,” he repeated, and hummed a little laugh. “Yeah, that sounds about right.”

They handed Aaron back his fork, took up their own cutlery, and began to pick their way through the meal.

While they ate they talked about the conference Aaron was going to in Vienna in May, the upcoming Biology department review. It was normal. It bordered on pleasant. They talked like two humans who maybe sort of liked one another would talk. It felt warm and strange and Beelzebub wanted to crawl out of their skin and maybe leave town. Occasionally they would look over to Aaron and Aaron would be looking back at them, his gaze moving from their eyes to their lips to their neck, and Beelzebub would be left feeling deeply examined, if not quite seen. Was this what desire looked like, or was it merely curiosity? They couldn’t tell what he wanted, not really.

They ate just over half of what Aaron had given them, explaining, “I don’t eat very much.”

He nodded, pushed both their plates back, and didn’t try to argue or press them to eat more.

Some half formed thought was coalescing in Beelzebub’s mind. A series of questions that would likely be safer left unasked. But when it came to this thing that was happening, like in all other things, they hated not knowing. 

Beelzebub could never be accused of possessing a lack of curiosity. It had taken them deep into forests, collecting specimens for study in the dead of night, being bitten by all varieties of six and eight legged creatures. It was four degrees and countless publications. It was being a nuisance in the Q & A periods of presentations at entomology conferences, subjecting their colleagues to pointed lines of questioning that left their theses near unfounded. That they had questions, that wasn’t strange.

But this was about more than curiosity. It was about self preservation.

“Did you have a good time at dinner last week?” They didn’t look at Aaron as they asked this. With their eyes they traced a grey streak in the quartz countertop, again and again and again.

“Before or after I was accosted with a glass of red wine?”

They smiled at that, but turned to look at the opposite wall. “I thought if you had a good time you’d text after or something.” Christ, it felt awful to say. Like admitting some weakness. Like Achilles pointing to his heel and saying  _ right here, takes me right down _ .

“Did you want me to text you?”

They shrugged, kept their eyes pointed decidedly in the opposite direction of where Aaron sat.

Aaron sighed then, not unkindly. “I wanted you to come to me.”

Immediately they hated themself for giving in so quickly, for not making him work harder. “What if I was waiting for you to come to me?”

“Then tonight you’d be eating a poloney sandwich alone in your cottage.”

“And what would you be doing?”

“Thinking about texting you.”

Beelzebub closed their eyes. Why, why, why did it feel so good to hear that? 

“Hey.”

Their eyes opened as his hand spun their stool around. They were facing him, and their breath stuttered to a mortifying stop. 

Aaron stood up from his stool and he towered over them. For a moment he didn’t seem to know where to put his hands. Finally, after an excruciating ten seconds, he brought them so slowly to either side of Beelzebub’s face, his thumbs on their cheeks. His hands were huge and warm with calluses at the base of his fingers - from what, they wondered. He didn’t seem the manual labour type. How did that happen? What did he do with those hands?

He could crush them, if he wanted. He could pull them limb from limb.

“I have to go.” Their tongue twisted, felt heavy behind their teeth. Suddenly, they couldn’t bear it, any of it.

His face fell. “What?”

They pushed his hands away, jumped down off the stool. “That, um, Saturday morning seminar I’m teaching. Bright and early. Gotta go.” They walked to the front door, grabbed their coat from where Aaron had hung it up. He followed.

“Beelzebub,” he said, like he didn’t believe them.

“Good curry though, decent.” They pulled on their boots, hopping inelegantly on one foot, avoiding his reach to balance them. Their heart was in their throat.

Beelzebub opened the door and tumbled out onto the pathway. Aaron stood in the doorway, watching them and taking in the night. 

“Let me drive you back.”

“It’s fine. I’m fine.”

“It’s dark.”

“I’m  _ fine _ , Aaron.” They turned to him as they said it, one hand on the gate, the other holding their jacket closed. They hadn’t even bothered to do up in their rush to get out.

“Okay, you’re fine.” He looked to the ground for a moment, thinking, working something out. Beelzebub froze at the entrance to his garden, wanting to escape but also desperate to know what he would say. Would this be it? Goodbye and a door closing for good. 

It would be a relief if it was.

It would devastate them if it was.

Aaron looked back up. “Will I see you Monday at lunch?”

“Monday?”

“Come see me at lunch on Monday.”

Dry mouth again. Wretched anxiety and hope together. “I have to check my -”

“Calendar, right, as if you don’t have lunches blocked off. Listen, just come to my office and eat your disgusting sandwich with me.”

They opened their mouth, closed it. Opened it again. “Yeah, alright. Monday.”

A light came on in his curiously coloured eyes. “Monday. Sure you won’t let me give you a lift?”

They nodded.

“Alright.” He turned to go back in, then stopped, looked back over his shoulder. “Text me when you’re home. Just so I know you didn’t get hit by a car or something. If you die they’ll need someone to cover that seminar.”

“Right, yeah.” They closed the gate and straddled their bike, pushed off. They had engineered this last exchange, and yet they didn’t understand a single one of their own choices.

* * *

**Home**

**good.**

**Thanks for dinner.**

**you’re welcome. monday?**

**Monday.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All my gratitude and love to brilliant beta, summerofspock. I would tell you to go read [Car Trouble](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22193215/chapters/52985554) but I know you already are.

It was humiliating, to do what he was doing. To watch Beelzebub reel him in then push him away at the slightest suggestion of intimacy. It was humiliating, and more than that, it actually hurt. 

There had been a moment on Friday where he thought Beez wanted him to kiss them. He’d gotten tired of them glaring at the wall and turned them in the stool to face him, then the look on their face knocked him sideways. They were so open, no mask. No sneer or rolling eyes or skepticism. 

Dark eyes wide and mouth soft and nervous and it took everything Aaron had not to surround them entirely. He wanted to wrap his arms around them, feel every spare inch of their frame against his. It wouldn’t be hard - there was so little of them. It wouldn’t take him long to know all of it.

And at that moment he’d thought that maybe they wanted it too. They had come to dinner, they had eaten the food he made, they had wheedled him about not texting. They’d revealed their face, so present and clear and he had been so fucking close.

Then, like last time, they had catapulted themself out of his hands and out of his house and wouldn’t even let him take them home. And it really fucking hurt. A boot to the sternum is what it was.

It wasn’t like he’d never been rejected. It didn’t happen a lot but he’d been rejected and it hadn’t really ever been that big a deal. He tossed rejections over his shoulder with a shrug and a glance elsewhere for the next opportunity. Sometimes women like to play out a hard-to-get routine with him and he was happy to oblige, but then when he got them, they so clearly wanted to please him that it got boring. It was boring to be agreed with.

Beelzebub seemed to live on being contrarian with him. He could say that grass was green and they’d have some retort that would somehow prove him wrong. They were always angling for a fight. It was annoying, but it was exciting too, and somewhere between those two emotions was the place Aaron Gabriel stood.

He kept thinking he was playing his cards right, but Beez kept showing him up, made him question what kind of game he was playing at all. He wanted to be able to read them. This had always been easy before, and now he was exhausted. He wasn’t used to doing this much work. 

How long would he keep this up? How long would he ask them over, ask them out? How many times would he look for permission to touch them? 

As long, he thought, as they let him think he had a chance.

* * *

“By the end of it they’ll be spending ￡40,000 on this thing which is just bloody ridiculous.”

Beez sat across from him, nibbling at a digestive biscuit, their feet pulled up onto Aaron’s chair. They’d begun Wednesday’s lunch date by scoffing at a text and, before Aaron could ask what was wrong, they launched into a lengthy monologue complaining about their brother’s wedding. It was, Aaron had agreed, extremely tedious. 

The truth was, he’d only half listened. He was more than a little distracted by what they were wearing.

In all his memories of them, Beez was a notably snappy dresser. Their clothes appeared tailored (though at that size, he thought, they had to be) and well fitted. Pressed slacks and blazers in textured fabrics with high necked shirts. They looked intimidating, and that was almost definitely the point of it. But this morning they’d stepped in for a lab project with students and had dressed down considerably. A dark green oversized sweatshirt hung off their slim shoulders, and their ripped, black jeans revealed their knees and made them look more like a student than he thought they realized.

It was the knees that got him, strangely enough. Powder pale skin, stretched taut over the bone. It looked paper thin. He shifted in his seat, uncomfortable with how quickly the image had taken hold of him. Would he ever press his mouth to the inside of that knee, feel the dry skin with his lips?

“How old are you?” he asked, and they looked up, their eyebrows raised. “We’ll get back to the wedding thing in a minute. How old are you?”

“39. Why?”

“You’ve been chair for six years?”

“Yeah. What are you on about?”

“You became the chair of the Biology department at 33.” He leaned back in his chair and swiveled slowly back and forth, his hands folded across his stomach. When he smiled at them he saw their face twitch, and he knew they were holding theirs back. “That’s… impressive.”

“It’s historic, is what it is. Youngest chair ever at Tadfield College.” They were proud of themself for that, it was all over their face. “How old are you?”

“46. I was 44 when I became chair.”

“Late bloomer,” they laughed.

“Yeah.” Then, changing the subject, “You should learn to delegate.” 

They squinted at him. “Why d’you say that? Did someone say something to you?” Some anxiety laid underneath their words.

He shrugged. “No, just what I’ve noticed. You pick up classes and seminars when you really should assign them to someone else. You ran a lab this morning when you could’ve gotten a TA to do it. You investigate the academic offence claims yourself and your secretary can do that.”

Beez bristled, but didn’t get up from their chair. “Carmine is an Executive Assistant, for starters, and for seconds, thank you very much for telling me how to run my department. I’m so happy to get advice from someone who has been doing this for four years less than I have. So helpful.”

Aaron brushed past it. “Listen, I’m just saying you could have time for other things.”

“Like what?” they scoffed.

“Like not having to run out from dinner on Friday nights because you have to be in a classroom for eight the next morning.”

Their gaze dropped and the faintest flush came to their cheeks. Aaron’s face felt warm too. He worried a moment that he had cut too close to the bone. He cleared his throat, wanting to move them out of this unfortunate valley in their conversation as soon as possible.

“Obviously it’s not my department. But I do think we should try dinner on Saturday this time.” He studied them as he spoke, looking for some reaction. “So you don’t feel rushed.”

Beez stared over his shoulder a moment, their face not betraying any internal negotiations. They tilted their head and let their gaze wander back to his face. “Yeah, alright.”

Victory. It was the first time they didn’t defer to their calendar.

“But.”

Aaron laughed, trying to cover the anxiety that had instantly manifested itself in his chest. “Of course. What’s the  _ but _ ?”

“I choose what we eat.”

Immediate relief welled up within him. “What’s it going to be? Cadbury fingers and lunch meat with saltines?”

Their eyes glared into his in challenge. “With Irn-Bru on the side.”

“Only the finest delicacies for the youngest person to achieve the role of chair at Tadfield College,” he smirked.

“Fuck you,” Beez said with more fondness than Aaron suspected they meant to convey. Wrinkling their nose, they pulled back their sleeve to check their wristwatch. They wore it with the face of the clock on the underside of their wrist and when they held up their hand Aaron caught a glimpse of the blue veins underneath their skin, the inky black edge of one of their tattoos. “I’ve gotta run. Awards meeting. See you.”

They hopped off the chair and hugged their black lunchbox under their arm. They’d been using it, but Aaron hadn’t commented, suspecting that if he did, they might stop. He watched as Beez turned on their heel and waved vaguely over their shoulder as they left. He raised his hand in return, and as the door slammed shut, he brought his hand to his mouth, and rubbed it in irritation.

Did they have any idea, he wondered, how much they had him wrapped around their little finger?

* * *

Beez had shown up at his place on Saturday night with a bag of fish and chips. As they opened it on his counter, the smell immediately dominating his kitchen, he sucked his teeth in annoyance. He grabbed a candle off the table and lit it, putting out the match with a flick of his wrist. He hoped the candle would cover the smell.

“So, fish. What am I supposed to eat?” he asked, inspecting the cardboard carton the meal had come in. 

“Chips,” shrugged Beez, giving him a pointed look. 

An uncomfortable silence lingered for a minute, before their face split into a toothy grin that caught him entirely off guard. From their backpack they pulled out a second container, and dropped it unceremoniously in front of him. He stared at it.

“It’s a cauliflower thing. No animal byproducts. From the curry place.”

Aloo gobi. “That… that works.” And now he was reluctantly touched.

Beez crouched down by their bag again, digging for something. “You think I’m awful. Think I’d actually show up at your house with nothing for you to eat,” they said, their words muffled by their position.

“I don’t think you’re awful,” he replied, and they ignored him.

“And to drink.” They laid a plastic shopping bag on the counter, which let out an unmistakable clunk. Soda.

“This isn’t…”

“It is.” Beez unsheathed the bag, revealing two cans of Irn-Bru. They looked as pleased with themself as he’d ever seen them.

“Disgusting,” Aaron said, screwing up his face.

“Vegan,” Beez responded, looking up at him in defiance.

What would happen, he wondered, if he shoved all the food to the floor, lifted them up and sat them on the counter? What would happen if he spread their legs and got his hands under that jumper and around their back? What would they do if he pressed his tongue into their mouth and traced their sharp little teeth? What would they taste like? Would they bite?

“Where do you want to eat this?” asked Beez, breaking eye contact and beginning to open drawers, presumably searching for cutlery.

Aaron opened the drawer in front of him, gesturing to the forks and knives organized within. He cleared his throat. “Living room? We’ll throw something on the TV.”

He let Beez choose and the two of them ended up watching some action thing on opposite sides of the couch. They made jokes about Tom Cruise’s acting prowess and Scientology, though both admitted halfway through that the movie was actually not bad, kind of fun really.

As explosions and gunshots blasted across the screen, they migrated closer together. Each time one of them would get up - to grab a napkin, use the washroom - they’d sit a few inches closer to the other. It was like high school, thought Aaron. Very careful, not wanting to show too much. 

When the credits began to roll, he turned to them, studied their profile. Beez steadfastly kept their eyes glued to the television. His arm lay across the back of the couch and he made no move to shift it over their shoulders

“It’s good that you could stay until the end of the movie,” he said, as a way of saying  _ I’m glad you’re still here. _

“Yeah,” they said, nodding slightly. “Had to see the end. Would’ve been up all night worrying otherwise. They leaned back a little further into the back cushions of the couch, bringing his hand closer.

His fingers twitched.

“Hey,” he murmured, and they turned their face to look up at him. They met his gaze head on, initially in challenge, but quick as anything it slipped into something less adversarial. A little nervous, but not scared, he thought. Present, and maybe even ready.

With an inhale, he brought his hand to the back of their neck, and when they didn’t pull away he let his fingertips caress their hairline, then drop to trace the collar of their shirt. His thumb came around the side of their throat, and teased at the place their pulse beat through. Beez’s breath hitched under his hand and his resolve crumbled.

He leaned forward and pressed his face into the hollow under their ear. Their hands came up to his shoulders, feather light. They made a noise, an  _ ah _ or an  _ oh _ that wasn’t surprise or confusion but maybe a relinquishment. When they didn’t push him away, his other hand reached for them, wanting to pull Beez into his lap, relishing the idea of finally feeling the slight weight of them there. 

But then their hands were knocking him away and they were on their feet. There hadn’t been any force to it but it felt like the air had been knocked out of him all the same. Like the brush-off had come from a fucking sledgehammer. He watched with his mouth open as they moved around the living room, avoiding eye contact. Their energy was maddeningly casual.

He was talking before he knew what was happening.

“What the hell, Beez?”

Their pacing came to a brief stop, and they tapped on a bookshelf with their fist, then resumed their movement across the room.

Aaron pushed himself up off the couch and took a step towards them. They took a sudden step back.  _ Fuck _ , he thought. How many times were they going to do this dance? Was this the only one they knew? “What do you think I’m going to do to you? One minute you’re tearing me to shreds and the next you act like you’re terrified of me. What is going on?”

His stomach lurched as they shook their head, still refusing to look up at him. And something cracked. There had always been a very fine line between confusion and anger for Aaron and the problem had always been that anger was more comfortable territory for him. He’d always known how to wield it, how to use it to get what he wanted. It came quick to him now, barely concealed under the surface. He felt like a fool.

“Is this just a joke to you? Are you toying with me?”

At that their face snapped to him, finally, their green eyes flinty in the low light. “Is it a joke to me?” they spit out, their arms crossing over their chest.

“Yes.” It was still a question 

Then infuriatingly, they laughed - an unkind laugh that Aaron had once been well acquainted with but hadn’t heard in some time. “I can’t believe… I… Look at yourself, then look at me a minute.” They gestured widely and incredulously.

“I am looking at you.” 

Their chest was heaving with effort and anxiety. In the back of his mind he wondered if they might be having a panic attack but every other part of them was perfectly composed, focused, claws knife sharp and extended.

“If the joke is on someone here, who do you think it’s on, eh?”

His shoulders fell. That this would be an issue for them… he had thought they were above it. “Jesus, Beez. Is this about the way we look?”

“That’s part of it, isn’t it?” They met his gaze intently, angrily.

“Part of what?! What the fuck is  _ it _ ?” Aaron resisted the impulse to walk towards them, knowing he couldn’t take it if they fled from him again.

“All the figures, all the sums. It doesn’t add up.” Under the facade, something was starting to crack through. Something desperate. He watched them fight it. “I remember what your ex looked like. She modeled to get through school. I know, because she told everyone she ever met that she modeled to get through school.”

Aaron almost laughed. Raphaela had indeed talked at length about her brief modeling career to anyone who would listen, and even those who didn’t. She’s been tall, blond, and somehow consistently tanned even though she’d lived in Scotland for four years. She’d _ looked  _ like a model. And he could concede that Beez didn’t but -

“And that girl at the restaurant.” Saira. Also tall. Also very beautiful in a conventional sort of way. She’d put her photo on her business cards which she had told him was very effective. 

But Aaron didn’t get what that had to do with Beelzebub. It hadn’t occurred to him that they’d care, had sort of thought they hadn’t. It was one of the things he  _ liked _ about them. “I didn’t realize you were so insecure.”

Beez reeled back at that. “I’m not fucking insecure. I’m an aberration in a pretty consistent pattern. A pretty fucking notable one. Do not act like you’re fucking clueless about this.”

_ For fuck’s sake _ . “I’m attracted to you, is that what you want to hear? Yeah, it’s fucking different but I don’t need to psychoanalyze myself.” 

“Right, yeah. God forbid you be even remotely introspective.”

“I’m not fucking alarmed by it, alright? When I want something I don’t have an existential crisis about it!” he yelled. He hadn’t meant to but it happened. He took a second to swallow it back, centre himself. “And what about you, huh? Do I fit your pattern?” 

Their eyes had gone hard, posture rigid. “Fuck off.”

But they’d opened a door and he thrust himself through it. “No, no. Answer me. Do I look like the people you’ve dated or fucked or whatever?” Beez looked away from him, then started moving towards the foyer. He couldn’t help himself. He followed. “I don’t know, because as long as we’ve both been working in the same place I’ve never seen anyone touch you. So what’s your type? Am I an  _ aberration _ for you?”

They were pulling on their boots. Shaking their head. “You’re a hateful piece of shite, you know that?” they muttered, face turned to the floor.

“Me? I’m a hateful piece of shit?” He laughed bitterly and began to replay all of their interactions from the very first — well before the debacle with sharing departmental space. The rolling eyes in meetings, the rude snipes on reply-all emails with the Dean and Provost copied, each and every time they’d treated him like dirt. But along the way something had shifted for him, long before it had for them (if it ever had, he wondered now). It was the hyper-competence. The uncompromising standards. The fight that lived in them and lit them up. It had been their bare back in the tattoo parlour in Stirling, spread out under bright lights, small and under surrender. It was their hands pressed into his chest, mopping up wine. It was the way they gave him a hard time about absolutely fucking everything and made him feel like it was a privilege. 

But what did he know? He was a  _ hateful piece of shit _ .

“You are so full of spite that it is impossible for you to imagine someone who isn’t, which means you can’t imagine anyone would have good intentions towards you.” His voice came out in a growl, and Beez froze at his tone. “And so you push people away, because being happy, maybe, would show you that the world isn’t exactly as you think it is. And you cannot bear to be wrong about something so profound as that. How’s that for psychoanalysis?” 

There was a moment where they stared at one another, both their chests heaving. The air in the room had gone cold and thick. It was as if the world had fallen into slow motion. He could see every flicker of movement on their face, and he couldn’t place a single expression.

Then time returned to full speed and Beez was up on their feet and out the door, the door slamming hard behind them.

Aaron pushed both his hands through his hair. “What the fuck just happened?” he asked the closed door. He felt blank, empty. He moved to the window and watched their blinking bike light move up the lane, and disappear.

He turned back to the room. 

“I am a piece of shit,” he said, as the whole of the fight played in front of him. Pushing, pushing, pushing. After last time he never should have tried again, just accepted it would be a friendship with a stupid amount of pining for a 46-year-old man until some other person rolled along. Some woman who better suited - what did Beez call it? - his “consistent pattern.”

He’d yelled. He cringed at the memory. He’d yelled at the one person who actually understood his position at work. The only person who made him laugh, or even want to. In hindsight he could see, even if Beez was garbage at showing him, that they needed to talk about something and his response was to lose his mind.

In the kitchen, Beez’s backpack sat open on the island. “Fuck,” Aaron muttered. He’d bring it to them. Tonight. Not draw it out any longer than he had to. But first, he’d give them time to get home.

He went upstairs to the washroom, took out his contacts which by this hour had left his eyes gritty and sore. When he put his glasses on and looked in the mirror, his raw eyes made it look like he’d be crying. “Come on,” he complained, shutting off the light in the washroom with more force than was strictly necessary.

In the kitchen he placed the cans of Irn-Bru in the backpack, which he would never drink even though he thought it was funny they’d brought it in the first place. In the foyer he realized they’d left without their coat and had a pang of concern at how cold they’d be once they got back to their place. It’s not like there was much to them to keep them warm. He folded it carefully, and put that in the bag as well. Then he slid on his shoes, and went out to the car.

When he was satisfied that enough time had passed that Beez would’ve reached their cottage, he started his drive. He debated if he’d try to talk to them or just leave the bag. With the lights of the village disappearing in his rearview mirror, he resolved to leave the bag without comment. They’d had enough, he’d had enough. What point was there in extending it any longer? If this was a game, he was sick of playing.

His heart started stuttering in his chest as he pulled down the lane where Beez lived, and was fairly hammering by the time he got to Thistle’s End. He turned the car off, and got out. The motion light came on as he approached the door. The curtains in the front window were drawn. 

With a deep breath he placed the backpack on the doorstep and turned back to his car. Then driven by a force he hadn’t been aware of he turned again and knocked on the door. It cracked opened immediately.

“What?” they said through the door, just slightly open, a sliver of their face revealed to him.

“I’m sorry.” 

That… that was unexpected. For both of them, judging by the look on Beez’s face and the tone of his own voice.

“About what?” they said, turning up their nose at him, but the bravado was gone. They were tired. He was tired. They were both tired.

He braced himself on the doorway, arms bracketing the frame. “Jesus, Beez. About yelling at you. About… not respecting your boundaries.”

Their expression didn’t change. “My boundaries. Huh. Did you read that on a pamphlet in the student support office?” Snark was easy for them, and safe, but he was annoyed at how hard they were making apologizing.

“I’m sorry, alright? I’m sorry. I like you.” The last sentence was wrenched out of him, and sounded like it hurt. It scratched something open and words began to spill out. “I didn’t want to hurt you. Fuck, it was the last thing I wanted to do. But I don’t think I know how to do that. I don’t understand you, clearly. Never did, I guess. I’m going to leave you alone. I’ll assign someone else to the joint course if it comes up again. You don’t have to worry about me, okay? I give up. I’m not going to bother you. I just... wanted to apologize.”

He watched as they received the apology, but failed to move. So, that was it then. He was stupid to have expected anything else. “Bye,” he said. “Good luck.” And he made to go back to the car.

His hand was on the car door handle when there was a squeak from behind him, a door on hinges. He looked back and Beez was fully in the doorway, backlit. “Aaron?”

“What?” Aaron huffed into the night.  _ What now? _

“You’re right.”  _ That  _ possibility had never crossed his mind, that those words would come out of Beez’s mouth. The slump of their shoulders, the curve of their mouth put off his internal celebration, however. Anger and resentment had gone slack inside of him and he wanted nothing more than to sweep them up into his arms, cradle them close to him.

“I assume the worst of people and I assumed the worst of you, but you have to know it’s because I’m usually right.” 

He said nothing, willing them to keep talking. But when they didn't - “Well, you weren’t right about me. Not… not when it comes to you.”

“Yeah,” they said, their hand coming up against the door. “I’m catching up to that.”

With the light flooding into the night from behind them, it was hard to make out the finer features of their face, the subtleties of their expression. His breath rose as steam in the cold night air in front of him. He looked down to the car and then back to Beez.

“Do you want me to go?” It was a gamble to ask, but he was learning, slowly, that he couldn’t afford to leave things unspoken between them.

“No,” came the muted voice from the doorway.

“Do you want me to stay?”

There was a pause then, and Aaron grappled with the possibility that again, he had pushed them too far.

Then, “Yes.”

“Are you sure?” he asked.

The response was immediate. “Yes, come in.”

He left his keys in the car and followed them in, picking up the backpack on his way.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Please note the rating change. Moving forward, this story is rated E. As a head's up, in this story Beelzebub has a vulva.

Aaron closed the door and then Beez heard a plaintive moan from over their shoulder. 

“Beelzebub…”

They cringed. Tried to tamp down their embarrassment which led them, as it often did, right back around to defensiveness. “I’ve barely been home. I’ve been really busy.”

“Christ. You live like this?”

They spun around, drew their arms across their chest. “Not helpful.”

So what if the place was a little messy? That’s what they’d been telling themself. In reality they were well aware it was a certifiable disaster zone. Mail and flyers piled up on the sideboard that had tumbled down onto the floor. Stacks upon stacks of academic journals scattered haphazardly along the wall. On their living room desk were no fewer than eight papers they were supposed to be peer reviewing. Mercifully, the laundry was clean, but in several baskets balanced on either side of the couch. The coffee table was littered with empty cups and plates. Then the kitchen… they didn’t want to think about the kitchen, but it was impossible not to with the open archway there, the chaos within staring them in the face. A thin film of dust covered every surface. 

These days, when they were home, it felt like they went from their desk to the fridge and then to bed, with barely any energy to pick up after themselves. Everywhere else was a place to dump stuff that they’d deal with at some later undefined date. It wasn’t always like this. It was rarely spotless, but the current state of their cottage was exceptional in the worst way.

Aaron put their backpack down next to the door. He was wearing glasses which they hadn’t seen before. Fashionable tortoiseshell frames. Paired with the worried frown that had been on his lips since they opened the door to him, Beez admitted to themself for the first time that Aaron was handsome. Not just in an objective way, which they never would’ve tried to argue, but in a way that made their throat thick and made them want to cross their legs.

Aaron’s eyes made their way back to Beelzebub’s after taking in the state of the room. He drew back, just a bit, and Beelzebub wouldn’t have noticed had they’d not been studying him, taking note of each careful movement of his body. It was like he had recognized their response to him as much as Beez had. His chest rose with a deep breath.

“Listen, I’m going to help you clean up a bit here, then we can talk about whatever we need to talk about. I can’t focus in a room like this. Can you?”

They shrugged. “It’s fine.” 

It wasn’t. It hadn’t been fine since about Christmas, which is why they were spending almost no time at home.

“Yeah, well, I can’t. I’ll take the kitchen. You do -” He looked back to them, sighed. “Whatever you want. I’m not going to tell you what to do.” 

Without waiting for a response he moved back into their kitchen, and immediately began throwing takeaway containers into the trash and stacking dishes next to the sink. They watched him for a moment, before picking up one of their baskets of laundry and taking it back to the bedroom. 

It was unsettling to have him out there, moving around, but not in a bad way. The tightness that had felt like steel bindings around Beelzebub’s chest over the past several weeks had loosened its hold somewhat, gave them more space to breath. Aaron had seen their mess and instead of turning around and walking back out had decided to clean it. He saw the mess Beez could be and he decided to work with it. Wanted to  _ help _ with it.

Listening to the sound of water turning on in the kitchen sink, they ripped the sheets off the bed, replaced them with clean ones, throwing the duvet on top without much artistry. They never really made the bed and they weren’t going to start now. They took the dirty sheets into the kitchen to throw them in the wash and Aaron was there, methodically washing, drying, and putting away all of their dishes.

They glanced at each other while they worked, saying nothing. Something warm had unfurled behind Beelzebub’s sternum and for the first time they allowed it without a struggle. It was strange and unfamiliar, but not wrong, maybe. When they were back in their room, hanging up clean clothes, they realized it was gratitude.

After three quarters of an hour, things were a little less chaotic. A lot less, if they were honest with themself. More or less back to what it looked like on a good day, normal, except for the fact that someone else was standing there with them, in their space. Aaron hovered in the archway to the kitchen, watching them straighten up their desk.

Beelzebub could feel his eyes burning a hole between their shoulder blades. They should say something, anything. Thank him, maybe, but those were words that didn’t come easy for them.

“I was serious when I said I don’t want to hurt you.”

Beelzebub looked over their shoulder, not looking at him head on. He was fuzzy in their peripheral vision.

“I find you difficult to read. I think you might want something and then I’m wrong. I don’t know what to do with that.”

Finally, they turned to face him, and leaned back on their desk, planting their hands at either side of their hips. 

“Like right now, no idea what you’re thinking. No idea what’s going on up here.” He tapped his own temple, his mouth clamping down into a straight line.

“I’m thinking that you look like every man who's never taken me seriously,” Beelzebub said. It shouldn’t have been a revelation, but it felt like one.

His expression faltered. “I take you seriously.”

“For years I went to conferences and I’d be shut out by groups of men who looked like you. There is no academic in Europe with my level of expertise and they still try to shut me out. So you have to know that when you…” They trailed off, tapped their fingers on the desk.

“When I did what, Beelzebub?”

“When you asked me to have dinner, it felt suspect. It’s never really stopped feeling like that.” Saying it out loud made their skin burn. It made their teeth hurt. “I just don’t get it.”

Aaron rubbed his mouth in quiet frustration and sniffed. “I think you’re brilliant,” he started, eye contact not wavering. “You’re smart and kind of terrifying and funny. No one else at that college or maybe on this stupid island works as hard as you. I admire you.”

They wanted to write his words down, to squirrel them away for a long winter’s night. But it wasn’t quite enough. It didn’t check that box on their list, beside a label they couldn’t quite articulate. “That’s different than wanting to be with me, to date me or whatever. Fuck me.”

A charge rocketed through the room then. They could tell he wanted to move to them, to touch them. It was palpable. 

“Beez.”

“Admiration isn’t attraction.” They stared him down, and something like hunger bloomed deep in their stomach.

“I want you.” His voice had gotten lower, moved back in his throat. “I think about you all the fucking time.” 

He took a tentative step towards them, and when they didn’t protest, didn’t move from their position against the desk, he came around the couch and stopped a few feet away from them.

They swallowed thickly.

“What else do you need to hear from me?”

Beelzebub opened their mouth to speak, and found themself unable. The air between the two of them felt like some pulsing, needy thing.  _ Touch me, _ they wanted to say.  _ Fight for it. _

“You have to tell me what you want,” he said, and there was pleading in his words. He was bending at the knees in an attempt to not tower over them, and he finally gave into it, bringing his knees to the floor. They were just taller than him like this, could look straight at him, instead of up. “Tell me.”

Their fingers dug into the desk, to their own frustration. They wanted to touch him. He clearly wanted them to touch him. They inhaled deeply.

“Do you want -” they started.

“No, uhn uh.” He cut them off. “I told you what I want. It’s your turn.”

They were usually extremely good at talking. Quick and certain, whip smart. The tremor on their voice was unfamiliar and strange. “Don’t be rough with me, alright? I’m not fragile or anything but don’t… don’t be rough.”

Something on Aaron’s face broke. “I’ll do anything you tell me.” He inched forward, and just like that, they believed him.

“Kiss me.”

“You’re the boss,” he said, as his lips brushed against theirs. His arms came up around their back and pulled them to his chest. Gently, just as he had promised.

Their skin buzzed with contact, joints tensing and releasing. Beelzebub let themself lean into him, running their fingers through his hair, softer than it had any right to be. The terror that had accompanied the other times they had touched was absent now. Their tongue teased at Aaron’s mouth.

“Fuck,” he whispered against their lips, heat surging between them.

They could feel his fingers tense against their back then release, as he tried to do what he’d been told. Stay soft, tender. They dug their fingers into his hair and pulled his head to the side, exposing the long line of his neck. His breath was heavy and hot against the side of their face. 

They could see his heartbeat in his neck and each rapid thrum of it reminded them that they could trust him, that he would show them his weak points, that he would go to his knees, bare his throat. Beez pushed their nose into Aaron’s temple, pressed a kiss there, then whispered into his ear, “Take me to bed.”

Quick and smooth, with no evidence of effort, he picked them up. Automatically they brought their legs around his waist and looped their arms around his neck. Aaron kissed them again, then pulled back to look at them. They could feel his broad hands under their thighs.

“You’re so light,” he said with something like wonder, starting back towards the bedroom. When they went through the doorway, Aaron brought one of his hands to Beelzebub’s head, held it down against his shoulder. “Watch your head,” he muttered, and Beez was reluctantly touched by the gesture. 

With the door open from the living room, light spread across the bed, the rumpled duvet. He turned and sat on the mattress, Beez still held to his chest. They kissed the line of his jaw as his hands traveled up the back of their shirt. He was well past five o’clock shadow and it scraped Beelzebub’s lips. It would leave a mark behind on their skin. They found they didn’t care.

With the lightest touch, Aaron drew his nails down Beez’s back and they shivered at the sensation. He kissed up under their chin. “You are so fucking sexy,” he huffed onto their skin. “I have wanted my hands on you for a long, long time.”

“How long?” asked Beez, grinding down with all their weight on Aaron’s lap. He was hard there, in the leg of his trousers.

“Fuck,” he said through clenched teeth, bucking his hips up under them.

“How long?” Beez repeated, lifting themselves up and away from Aaron’s legs as if they were unaffected, as if the heat between their legs hadn’t flared as well.

“Since I saw you in that shop. Getting your tattoo.” His finger tapped the centre of their back, between their shoulder blades, where the aforementioned tattoo was inked into their skin. He captured their lips again. Desperate.

As he licked into their mouth, Beez rucked up his jumper in the back. He pulled away to let them pull it up and over his head, a white undershirt going with it. His glasses were askew on his face and he let out a breathy laugh, tossing them to the side.

“You should wear those more often,” said Beez, leaning back onto Aaron’s knees and running their hands down his chest. He was fit, firm, and yet unmistakably his age. A smattering of brown hair between his pecs, and then a dusty trail from his navel down past his waistband.

“Yeah, you like ‘em?” he asked, leaning forward to kiss them, then taking the hem of their shirt in hand.

“They’re alright,” murmured Beez.

“You like them,” he said, smiling.

They could feel his knuckles brush the skin of their stomach, warm and rough.

“Can I take this off?” he asked, tugging at the knitted fabric. 

Beez reached down and did it for him, dropping it to the floor, leaving them in a thin cropped tank top. They turned back to Aaron, whose eyes were tracing the lines of their torso, taking in the angles of them, the ink. He looked reverent, like they were a treasured thing. His hands ghosted over their sides and he leaned in to kiss their concave collar bone, nip at it lightly.

Their hands were in his hair again, tugging, relishing the sounds he made when they did it. He was good, and it surprised them. They’d always assumed that people who looked like that didn’t need to put in the effort, didn’t need to learn how to make another person feel good. But he was skilled with graceful movements, listening to them, responding. When his fingers skirted close to the edge of their top they’d frozen for a moment and he’d immediately backed off, his hands finding their hips again.

Aaron pulled Beez to him, his stomach against theirs. Skin on skin. Beelzebub had almost forgotten what this could feel like, to be flush next to someone like this. They moaned, full throated and loud and completely involuntarily and before they could feel embarrassed Aaron whimpered, like they had hurt him.

Expertly, he turned them over and then their back was against the duvet. Aaron was over them, holding himself up on his hands, elbows locked with his knee slotted between their legs. Beelzebub ground against it tentatively, then heard themself whine.

“Is that good, baby,” asked Aaron, that wonder on his voice again.

“Baby?” they said, wanting to bite back at him, give him shit for it but not quite able to find the right tone.

“You can yell at me later,” he huffed. He pressed his thigh against them a little harder, and it felt nothing less than exquisite. That friction and pressure.

Beez let their eyes fall shut and they grasped Aaron’s forearms. When they pushed down against his leg ripples of pleasure surged up their body, settling heavy into their stomach. They tensed up, skirting the very edge of the tipping point several times over then retreating, not wanting to get there yet, wanting to drag it out as long as possible.

“Beez,” Aaron whispered and they opened their eyes, fairly panting. 

He pulled back his leg from them, and looked down between them. 

“Oh, fuck. Beez, look at this.”

They were chilled suddenly, but when they propped themself up on their elbow, Aaron’s hand came up behind their head to support them. He kissed their forehead, and when he pulled back they could see it, the dark wet spot on his leg where they’d rutted against them.

The blood rushed to their face. “Oh… I…” They didn’t know what to say.

“I love how wet you are.” He looked down at them, pushed their fringe back from their face. “Can I taste you?”

“Yes, yes. Fuck.” Their hands went for their button and fly but his were there first, taking their trousers off quickly and tossing them to the side.

Beez felt themself get tugged to the edge of the bed as Aaron settled on the floor between their legs. They propped themself up on their elbows to watch him. He ran his hands up and down their thighs, massaging lightly.

“Look at you,” he said, not to their face but to their sex, the heat of it. “Fuck, you look good.”

One of his hands slid down their thigh and his fingers touched them, spread them. They resisted the urge to press back into his hand.

“What word do you use?” he asked with just the suggestion of nerves, looking up into their eyes. Beez raised their eyebrows. “What do you want me to call this?” On _ this _ he pressed a finger in, slow but gorgeous and thick.

Beez thought they might choke. “Just say cunt. Can you-” they panted, “Can you please get on with it?” Their hips bucked up, trying to take his finger deeper.

His free hand came up to rest at the base of their stomach, his thumb skirting the dark thatch of hair there. He kissed their thigh and he was smiling. “Yeah, I can get on with it,” he said, pushing a second finger deep into them.

That he would be as meticulous and measured between their legs as he was everywhere else wasn’t a surprise. That there’d be such intense care and attention to the way he fucked them with his fingers? That, they hadn’t anticipated. 

He crooked his fingers inside them, pressed down at the exact right spot. Any and all thoughts stuttered to an abrupt stop inside of them, instead replaced with that all-consuming sensation. Beelzebub dropped down onto their back, fisted their hands in the sheets beside them. 

“Fuck, you’re tight,” whispered Aaron, his fingers gently working.

“Isn’t that,” they breathed out, “what men think they’re supposed to say?” It would’ve had more fight in it if they weren’t actively pushing into his hand now, greedy for more.

“Maybe, but you are… God. Tight, and so wet, and perfect. Just fucking perfect for me.” To punctuate his declaration he leaned in and drew his tongue against their clit, broad and slow.

“Ah, ah. Aaron,” they called out, one of their hands coming up to grab at his, still anchored to their hips.

“That’s it, baby. That’s it.” His lips sealed around their clit and he moaned and they could feel every fucking reverberation of it, up through their hips all the way to their neck. Their free hand twisted in the duvet. 

Every time his fingers dragged across that spot deep inside of them, a spark set off deep in their belly. In the back of their mind it triggered that flight response, that one that had sent them from his place not once but twice. They were dancing on the edge of losing control, and wanted this time to stay put. Wanting so badly to trust him entirely.

“Fuck, you taste incredible.” His tongue traced their slit, then returned to their sensitive clit. 

They brought their hand to their mouth, cried out into it as Aaron took that bundle of nerve endings between his lips again.

“I love your cunt, Beez. Gorgeous, perfect cunt.”

They could feel how he sunk into those words, how when he said them some of his veneer slipped away, dissolving that smugness and surety. Like he was exposed too.

There was another swell of pleasure inside of them and one of their legs slung over his shoulder, and their heel pressed into his back. They were on the edge, the wave threatening to overtake them.

“I can feel you right there, baby. I know you’re right there. Tell me what you need.”

His fingers dragged over that spot, his thumb came up to circle their clit. His hot breath on them. A scared voice inside them yelled  _ stop _ , tried to force their limbs to push them back and away. Not this time, no. Not this fucking time.

“Don’t stop,” they fairly whimpered. “Your mouth.”

His tongue was on them again, his lips. Moaning into their slick and heat and -

“Fuck,” Beelzebub called out. “Oh fuck, Aaron.” 

From where their hands were joined on Beelzebub’s stomach, he grasped at their fingers, pulled them down harder towards him, deeper into the mattress.

The climax ripped through them wordlessly, their spine arching up and their head pressed into the bed. They panted through it, could feel the hot fluttering pulse between their legs. And then it was too much.

“Okay,” they said. “Stop, stop.”

Aaron’s fingers withdrew, his mouth pulled away. “Are you okay?”

“Yes. M’fine. Just, a lot.”

He hummed his acknowledgement. Beez pushed themself up on an elbow, still shaking and unsteady. Aaron was gazing at their cunt. 

“Gorgeous,” he said again, hands coming up to gently tease the outside of their thighs. They could feel their slick on his fingers.

Before they could catch their breath he’d come back up, wrapped an arm around their waist and completely changed their position on the bed, placing their head on the pillow. He bent down to kiss them and they could taste themself on his lips. When he drew back he gazed at them, face going a bit dopey. They wanted to make some sort of joke, but the words never formed.

“Get on your back,” they said instead, and Aaron settled beside them. Beelzebub moved to straddle his hips, still vibrating from the orgasm, not even close to recovered, and started undoing Aaron’s trousers. They could see the outline of him there, grazed it deliberately with their fingertips and heard him gasp.

He helped them slide his trousers down, until they stopped abruptly, mid-thigh.

“What?” he asked, eyes wide.

“You’ve -” they found themself laughing incredulously. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

He was… big. He was really big. They’d seen him through his pants but they’d thought it was just the cut of the trousers, some sort of optical illusion. It had been a while since they’d worked this this sort of equipment and-

“What?” he repeated.

“Don’t make me say it.”

A lazy grin broke across his face. “Oh, I would love to hear you say it.”

They sighed, and continued pulling down his trousers until they were off and discarded next to them. Beelzebub came up to his hips again, where he was hard (and frankly kind of intimidating) against his stomach. They slid their cunt against him and all teasing dropped from his expression, his head tipping back against the pillow.

Their hips ached from being spread so wide, but they dragged their wetness against his length again, loving how easily he was taken apart by it.

“You’re big, is that what you want to hear?” 

Aaron moaned and Beelzebub brought their hand down, cupped the head of it as they moved their hips, letting him slip between their slick folds 

“You’ve got a big fucking cock.”

His hands grabbed their hips, pulled them down on him. Ground their cunt into him harder, chasing his movements. 

“S’not gunna fit,” panted Beelzebub.

Aaron groaned, his eyes squeezing shut. “Fuck, Beelzebub. Jesus Christ.”

Seconds. It took seconds for him to be putty in their hands. He liked this talk, and they’d suspected he would, but it wasn’t really just talk. It was the first thing they thought when they’d seen it.  _ It was not going to fit. _

They rocked their hips against him, then caught an angle where his cock dragged just right between their legs, and found themself moaning into the dark. They could get off again like this, if they just kept the right rhythm.

“Is that good? For you?” Aaron was gazing up at them again, his hands so tight on their hips.

They nodded and braced themself on his chest, not stopping the rocking of their hips. In their other hand they dragged their thumb across the head of his prick, wet with precome.

They kept pace, gradually moving more quickly. Then they were there again and this time there was no resistance. They threw themselves over the precipice as the orgasm wracked through them, their nerves flaring.

“Beez, oh God. Fuck, you’re so, uhn. Ah!” 

They looked down at him, and he was completely unmade underneath them, the breath in his chest hitching unevenly. His head thrown back. Eyes wild.

“Say it again,” he begged.

“Say what?” they asked, still electric from their climax, knowing exactly what he wanted.

“Jesus fucking Christ! Please, baby. You know, please.”

_ Please _ was new.  _ Please _ was intoxicating. “Your cock,” they started, breathy and lightheaded, “is too fucking big. And it’s not going to fit in my tight little cunt.”

He came with a holler and a curse. They could feel him pulsing beneath them and thick streams of come painted his stomach, his chest. The whimper that followed made it sound like he was in pain, and they were fairly certain he wasn’t. But-

“You alright?”

His eyes opened and he pushed himself up to sitting more quickly than they thought he should be able to manage at this point. His arms came around their waist and he kissed them, with a great deal of feeling. 

“I’m perfect,” he said when he drew back. “You are… perfect.” His hand came up to cradle the back of their head, and he touched their foreheads together, breathing deeply.

Their shoulders had dropped. They felt loose and sleepy and warm. No anxiety, no tension, no voice telling them to flee from the room, abandon ship. 

Wrapped up in him, they felt… safe.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One million thanks to summerofspock for their wonderful continued beta-ing efforts.

Frankly, he was a bit stunned. Two hours earlier he had completely abandoned the idea of ever touching Beez again, of ever having a personal conversation with them that didn’t involve some work thing they couldn’t get out of. He had blown it fairly spectacularly. He was certain that he’d never forget the look on their face as they swept out his front door. Furious and betrayed.

Now he’d never forget their face as they ground against his cock, the shivers of their spine, the tilt of their hips. He loved all of it. 

They leaned forward in his embrace, their small arms folded up against his chest and the whole thing was so deeply satisfying he almost laughed. When he wrapped his arms around their back he felt lucky, and that was a new thing. Holding someone was never something he’d associated with  _ luck _ before.

Beez had let him into their home, into their bed. Inside of them. At each step he understood what a privilege it was that he got this close. No one else got this. 

He tried to think back to what it had been like in early days with Raphaela, or even Saira, but his mind was curiously blank when it came to anyone else he’d been with. It had obviously been good, had to have been. But he knew without question that it never felt like this, like he had worked for it and been rewarded.

Aaron let his forehead drop to Beez's shoulder, then kissed it. Their breath was slowing.

“Are you falling asleep?” he murmured into their neck.

“Bit. Always get tired after this stuff.” He could feel their breath on his shoulder. “Don’t tell me you want to talk about our feelings.”

He chuckled deep in the back of his throat. “No, I’m good. But we should clean up a bit.”

Beez leaned back, eyes half-lidded, and looked down between the two of them. There was slick rapidly drying on both their stomachs. Their hands lazily dropped to Aaron’s sides and he tried to hold back a shiver as they traced small circles onto his skin with their fingertips. Their expression was looser, softer than he’d ever seen it. 

_ Unguarded _ . That was the word he wanted. They were unguarded.

“Can I turn on the shower for you? Run a bath or something.” 

Beez’s eyes flicked up, and there was a light behind them, some mischief. “Is that what you offer all the others?”

There was a light mocking in it, like it was tailored to give Aaron the impression that if he said  _ yes, I frequently run baths for the endless parade of people I’m fucking, _ that they wouldn’t have cared at all. 

“No,” he said, because it was true. He hadn’t offered to run a bath for anyone in his whole life. “I can get a face cloth instead, if that’s what you want.”

Beez took in a great inhale through their nose and shook their head, like they were waking themself up, returning themself to the present. “A shower’s probably a good idea,” they muttered, starting to lift themself off of him.

He felt the loss immediately, wanted to pull them back down against his thighs, slot his thumbs in the slight dip of their waist, tell them  _ this is where you’re supposed to be _ . But he let them settle down beside him, one of the straps of their top coming down over their shoulder. With his finger he lifted it back into place, sliding it over the tattoo of the forest floor that covered their bicep. “Be right back,” he said. He grabbed his glasses from where he’d tossed them and slotted them onto his face. The room came back to full clarity.

The bathroom was tidier than he had anticipated, which was a blessing. There were some towels on a shelf that looked and smelled clean. He wet one in the sink and wiped off his stomach, chest. Looking up into the mirror, he noted immediately that the lighting wasn’t forgiving. There were light blue circles under his eyes that his glasses couldn’t conceal. He needed to shave, and probably sleep for a full twelve hours. He looked down and wished he’d bothered to put on his underwear. In the harsh glare he felt every day of his 46 years.

Shrugging off the detour that threatened his vanity, he turned on the shower, holding his hand under the stream to gauge the temperature. Steam started to fill the small space. 

Beez cleared their throat and he looked over to where they stood in the door, clad in a flannel housecoat. It was several sizes too big for them and had the effect of making them look even smaller than they actually were. Something low in his belly hiccuped at that thought.

This wasn’t a fetish, was it, his love of the smallness of them? He had loved how easy they were to carry, the way their tiny palm felt in his. He didn’t seek this out. It wasn’t like every ex he had was vertically challenged. But he couldn’t deny how deeply satisfied he was every time their difference registered. It was probably perverse. He didn’t fucking care.

“It’s warm,” he said, withdrawing his hand and shaking it, drying it haphazardly on a hand towel.

“Good,” said Beez. “Heater’s been tricky these days. Takes awhile to get a hot shower.” 

He nodded, but they didn’t move. Their eyes darted nervously from Aaron, to the shower, to the floor.

It suddenly hit him and his blood ran a little cold. “Do you want me to go?”

“If you don’t mind,” they said in a clipped voice, and they looked to the side, almost as if they were embarrassed by the request.

He had to actively fight the swell of embarrassment back, not wanting it to become humiliation, not wanting it to become anger. He smiled tightly, his jaw clenching. “Right. Okay.” He moved past them and heard the click of the bathroom door closing behind him. In the bedroom he pulled on his clothes, tried to remember if he’d brought anything. His keys.

He wandered out into the living room, eyes tracing surfaces, looking for them. His fingers aggressively ran through his hair. He had thought, what? That they were together now? That Beez would suddenly be different than they’d always been, would invite him in, expose themself enough to let him sleep next to them?

Was this just a one night thing? Could he even be mad if it was? God knows that he had ushered women out of his place (politely, he thought) after a hookup, never to call them again. But not anyone he worked with. Not anyone… who was Beez.

He’d left them in the car. His keys were in the car.  _ What kind of dumbass leaves his keys in the car overnight?  _ He made a move to the door, started to slide his shoes on when-

“Where are you going?”

Beez was at the entrance to the hallway, wet hair pushed back from their face, back in the robe.

“Home,” he muttered, hand on the doorknob.

“What? Why?”

He looked back over his shoulder. Jesus, couldn’t any of this be straightforward? “Because you literally just asked me to leave.”

Beez’s body contracted in what could only be described as a full body eyeroll. “I had to take a piss. I wanted you out of the bathroom.”

Suddenly the whole interaction took on new meaning. “Oh.”

“Yeah,  _ oh _ . You fucking idiot.” Their voice skirted dangerously close to fondness. “Go back to bed. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

Aaron stared after them as they turned back into the hallway. Alright, then. He took his shoes back off. He needed to start asking follow-up questions. 

Back in the bedroom he shed his jeans, his sweater. He left his t-shirt and boxer briefs on and sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for them. He could hear the click of the bathroom light turning off, then they were in front of him again, holding the robe tight against their chest. 

“You jumped to some pretty spectacular conclusions just now,” they said, their face serious.

“Can you blame me?” he asked, palms outstretched. “Things between us haven’t exactly been… consistent.”

Beez looked to the side, uncomfortable for a moment, then back to him. “You think I’d kick you out. After that.”  _ That _ being what they had done in that room so recently he could still smell it.

“Well, I don’t  _ now _ ,” he said.

“I’m not like you,” they said, suddenly very focused on the carpet at their feet. “I don’t do this a lot. It’s not like… I don’t know. It’s not a thing I do.”

Aaron had the unsettling realization that he might be the only other person to have been in Beez’s bed at Thistle’s End. He reached for them, leaning forward, not having to rise from where he sat, and gently drew Beez to him. They still weren’t speaking the same language, but he could try to translate.

“Do you want me to spend the night?” he asked, his hands on their hips.

Beez rested their hands on his forearms. “If you want.”

“Do you want me to though?”

They sighed. “This is stupid game.”

“Hey,” he said, pulling Beez to his chest. They were face to face like this, him perched on the edge of the bed, them barefoot and standing as tall as they could. It made him ache. “It’s not a game. What do you want me to do?”

Their hands had slid up his shoulders and around his neck, then they slotted their face beside his. It was a hug. They were hugging him.

In that moment they could’ve asked anything of him and he’d have done it. He would’ve burned down the school, robbed a bank, driven his car into the ocean, just to feel them holding him, know the sensation of their tiny body against his chest. Terror chased that feeling, because it was shockingly new. He’d never felt that before - not like that and not that fast. His whole body vibrated with it.

He wound his arms around them. “I’m going to sleep here,” he said. If they couldn’t say it, he’d have to take an educated guess. He kissed their cheekbone, the side of their neck, breathing into the embrace.

“I should put pyjamas on,” they muttered from behind his ear.

“You don’t have to,” Aaron said, wishing he’d thought earlier to put his hands under the robe, to feel their skin again.

“Hm, no,” replied Beez pulling away, and Aaron missed them the second they left his grasp. “I always sleep in something. Don’t like being… not dressed.”

They walked over to what turned out to be a walk-in closet. He didn’t think people had those in this country. Beez disappeared a moment and came out in a pair of boxers and an oversized t-shirt. They were adorable.

“Move over,” they directed, and he did as they said, shifting to the far side of the bed. 

He watched them settle in, plug in their phone, rearrange the duvet. Then there was a moment where they looked over at him, almost shy. Their mouth quirked into a half smile, and then quick as a flash they reached over and turned out the bedside lamp. But they had him by the throat. He didn’t know whether he wanted them in his lap or to bury his face into theirs. He  _ wanted _ . He wasn’t used to the wanting.

He laid his head on the pillow beside them, and tentatively reached his hand across the mattress, and placed it on their stomach. The t-shirt bunched under his palm. Beez turned their face to him and he could just make out their features in the dark, the outline of their nose, the curve of their brow. And he watched as those features contorted, went anxious on him.

“Hey,” he whispered, “what’s up?” He didn’t know why he was whispering. Maybe so he wouldn’t startle them, so they wouldn’t shrink away from his hand rubbing gentle circles on to their belly.

“Er, nothing,” said Beez, turning to look back at the ceiling.

Aaron sighed. “Beez.”

Beelzebub sighed in return. “I’m worried, alright? I’m actually legitimately worried about your prick.”

The grin split across Aaron’s face before he could control it. He was very grateful the lights were out. He shifted closer to them. “Beez…”

“It’s not going to fit,” they said to the ceiling, just a touch of hysteria creeping in.

“Beelzebub,” he said, chuckling. He nosed the soft spot on their neck, under their ear.

“It should come with a warning label. Stop laughing!” they reprimanded, pulling away from him and propping themself up on their elbows, but they were laughing now too. Nervous, but laughing.

“Sorry,” Aaron said, kissing their shoulder through the fabric of their top.

“You’re not. You’re pleased with yourself.” They scoffed. “Abnormal, is what you are. They should study you for science.”

He laughed fully then. Fuck, they were funny. They looked away from him and he made himself swallow the laughter back. They were funny, but this wasn’t really a joke to them. He quickly recalibrated, searched for the voice he used when he didn’t want anyone to question him. (It was effective. No one ever did question, except for Beez.)

“Hey. Sorry. Look at me.” He waited for them to turn back to him. In the dark he could feel their eyes on his face. “We’ll figure it out. We did okay tonight, didn’t we?”

Very quietly, Beez hummed their agreement. Aaron leaned in, and kissed them.

Against their lips he murmured. “Don’t worry. I’m not worried.”

“You’re not the one who’s going to need medical attention after,” they murmured back.

Being this close to them, plus this conversation, had the vexing effect of inciting a miraculously clear fantasy. Beez on their back underneath him, their legs spread, and him holding their thighs open, pushing into the wet, tight darkness of them. Stretching them around him, taking them so slowly. Listening to the sounds they’d make. 

He was half stiff again. But they had asked him to stay, to sleep next to them. He wasn’t going to push his luck. Kissing Beez once more, he pulled back. 

“We’ll be fine,” he said, pulling the duvet up. “Night.”

“G’night,” Beez murmured, and then it was quiet.

Sleeping next to Beelzebub wasn’t the easiest arrangement. Part of that he chalked up to being in a new place for the first night - he always spent the first night in a hotel staring at the ceiling in irritation - but another part of it was he was woken up periodically with the blanket entirely on Beez’s side. He’d haul it back over but it wouldn’t last more than a half hour before it would start inching over again. When he could sense the sun creeping under the blinds, he got up, feeling slightly worse for wear, and moved quietly out to the living room.

As the sun rose he answered e-mails on his phone, scrolled mindlessly through Twitter. He snooped in their kitchen, looking for coffee and a french press, or some appliance in the same family. There was nothing. Their fridge was near empty, a sad looking box of baking soda tipped over in the back, a quarter-full bottle of milk. A single beet in the vegetable drawer. He sighed.

Beelzebub could clearly take care of themself, there was no question about that. They didn’t need him in any way. Still, the image of the barren fridge stuck with him. He wanted to drive down to the Co-op, fill a cart with whatever garbage food it was Beez ate and bring it back.

An hour later Beez slouched out from the bedroom, squinting in the light.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Aaron laughed from the couch, taking in their very grumpy face and hair that stuck out at every angle.

“Hi,” they grunted, rubbing their face and yawning. They studied him for a moment, then padded into the kitchen, opened the fridge.

“You’re not going to find anything in there,” Aaron said, as Beez’s small form disappeared momentarily behind the open fridge door. “Not unless you want to eat that beet. It looks gross, by the way. I’d toss it.”

They closed the fridge door, a little more forceful than was strictly necessary. “It’s not always like this,” they snapped defensively.

So, not a morning person. He wasn’t sure whether to believe them or not, that it  _ wasn’t always like this _ , but he had a plan regardless.

“Get dressed. I’ll take you for breakfast somewhere. Then we’ll go to the grocery store.”

They hesitated, almost as if they didn’t want to give in too quickly, but then they shrugged and said, “Yeah, alright.”

Half an hour later they were both putting on their shoes. Beez was attempting to multitask by taming their hair into a ponytail, the tie held between their teeth. Aaron liked their teeth, he liked their little mouth. He wanted to push his finger into it but they’d probably bite it off.

He turned to open the door and - 

“This is unlocked.”

Beez shrugged.

“We left the door unlocked all night.”

They rolled their eyes. “Yeah, I almost never lock it.” They opened the door and moved past him onto the pathway.

Aaron’s blood went cold. “Beez, you can’t… you have to lock the door.”

“It’s not a big deal, no one comes out here.” They were being infuriatingly nonchalant.

“What if someone broke in?” He closed the door behind him, kept his hand on the handle.

“They wouldn’t have to break in. Door’s unlocked,” Beez laughed.

“Beelzebub,” he reprimanded. The idea of them out here, alone, on this road with almost no one else on it, with an unlocked door became a full-bodied anxiety in seconds. “Lock your door.”

They laughed again, taken aback by his tone. “There’s nothing in there worth stealing. You’ve seen it.”

“Please,” plead Aaron, gesturing to the lock.

Beez shook their head with exasperation and acquiesced, fumbling with their keys and locking the front door as Aaron stood over them. They looked up defiantly. “There. Happy, you absolute weirdo?”

“Yeah,” he said. “I am.” He wanted to take them by the shoulders, make them promise to never leave it unlocked again, but he knew they wouldn’t. 

Beez smirked and walked back towards the car. “Americans. Always think you’re seconds away from a home invasion. You’ll be telling me to get a gun next.”

They had a decent breakfast at a cafe in town. He learned that Beez always started their day with coffee but switched to tea in the afternoon, that they’d had a cat for awhile but it passed away a year earlier, that in spite of the lack of non-biology related books in their home, they  _ did _ read. Mysteries mostly. Stuff from the library. “No point in buying things if you can get them for free.” They embraced a sort of haphazard minimalism that he found admirable.

Leaning back into the soft armchair at the cafe, they were as relaxed as maybe he’d ever seen them. Shoulders loose, no ferrety movements. They smiled more readily.

Through it all he itched to hold them, to pull them close and kiss those high cheekbones, the underside of their wrist, the place where their throat dipped into a shallow. He wanted to feel the curve of their shoulder blades, the course texture of their hair between his fingers. The second he thought he’d tamed that urge Beez’s eyes would flick over him and they’d spout off some insult, some sardonic comment and he’d be gone again, a dog at their size five feet.

The grocery store was a surprisingly fun excursion. He asked them if they wanted to ride in the child seat of the cart and they hit him in the stomach with the back of their hand. They gave him a hard time about his dietary restrictions. It was easy. It felt like this was the way it could be if they could both check their egos a bit, if they could be people around one another.

On the drive back to Thistle’s End he could sense some of the ease slipping away. The conversation slowed, and Beez seemed preoccupied, lost in thought. Pulling in front of the cottage he turned off the car, angled towards them in his seat.

“Everything okay?” he asked, not quite wanting to hear if the answer was anything but  _ yes _ .

Beez knocked on the dashboard nervously, gazed out the front windshield. “What are you doing in April?” they asked, their mouth curving into a frown.

“For the entire month?” Aaron responded incredulously.

“April 10th to 12th,” they clarified.

“Uh, I don’t know,” he said, and then it dawned on him. He bit the inside of his cheek to hold back his smile. There was still a chance this wasn’t what he thought it was.

“I have to go to Edinburgh,” they said.

“For your brother’s wedding,” Aaron supplied.

“Right, yeah.” They sighed, like this was hurting them. Then they opened their mouth and it came out like a torrent. “You should come. Come to the wedding with me.”

They had been on three dates. Two of which had ended with them literally running out of his home. They were spiky and short tempered and they acted like they could barely stand him a full 70% of the time. And God knew he’d never agreed to meet anyone’s family until he’d been dating someone a full year. Yet there was only one response he could offer them.

“Yeah. I’ll go with you.” He leaned back in his seat, reached over to rub the back of their neck. It was almost like that first time in his car, both full of nerves and unsure.

“It’s going to be awful. An absolute sideshow.” They didn’t change their expression at his touch but they leaned into it, seeking pressure.

With a bit more enthusiasm than he had meant to reveal, he pulled Beez to him and kissed them, taking their lower lip briefly between his teeth. “I can’t wait,” he murmured onto their lips.

It was mid-afternoon by this point and he really had to get back to his place, review the minutes from some meetings, get his own groceries, make a phone call or two. Clear his schedule for the weekend of the wedding. But all he wanted to do was learn every part of Beez’s body, to kiss them until they both went numb. 

“I’ll e-mail you the details,” Beez said, disentangling themself from Aaron, looking somewhat flustered. They hopped out of the car and grabbed their groceries from the backseat. At the front door, they made a show of unlocking it and Aaron laughed. 

Driving away, his mind played a highlight reel of the past 24 hours; Beez letting him in, kissing them for the first time, carrying them to bed, his face buried in their gorgeous cunt. And now the promise of more. Of something else. Of several more weeks. 

This could work. The two of them, they could work.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brilliantly beta'd by summerofspock, who consistently makes this a better story.

Beelzebub held the phone in their hand, doing everything except what they had meant to do when they picked it up. They scrolled endlessly through the Guardian, played a word game, flicked through their recent pictures. Part of them wanted to not make the call at all. Maybe they’d just show up, Aaron at their side, and let their family figure it out the day of.

But that might be embarrassing for Aaron and while they bloody well weren’t going to grovel at his feet in gratitude for accompanying them, they didn’t want him to feel put out by the experience. Not by their family, at least.

Why had they even asked him to come? It didn’t exactly make the event easier. They’d have to explain who he was to everyone they came into contact with, every distant three-times-removed family member they hadn’t seen for a decade. Had they been looking for companionship in their request, or was it mostly protection? Was Aaron a shield? They didn’t know exactly, and didn’t want to examine it too closely. But they knew that at the very least, they had to make sure he had a place to sit.

With great reluctance, they brought up their brother’s name in their contact list, and tapped his mobile number.

“Uh. Hiya? Bee? Everything okay?” Damien’s voice came in, confused and muffled. Beelzebub never called, so the assumption that something was wrong wasn’t out of place.

“Yeah, fine. Listen, I’m bringing someone to the wedding.” Get it out quick, no dancing around it. They had no desire to prolong this conversation for longer than was needed. 

There was a long silence, and they were concerned the call had dropped. “Damien? Are you -”

“Still here. Just surprised. The RSVP deadline was a month ago. Gemma’s already done the seating plan and she’s really stressed out about it.”

_ Fuck’s sake _ , they thought. He could act so put-upon. They ran their hand over their face and fell back against the couch, suddenly exhausted. “Just shove another seat at the reject table where you’ve stuck me. Can’t be that hard.”

“You’re not at the…there isn’t a reject table,” said Damien, more exasperated than offended. “You’re sitting with mum and dad.”

That was worse. “Oh, fantastic.”

“It’ll be fine,” Damien said with a sigh. 

“Is there an open bar?” asked Beelzebub. The line went quiet for a moment. Damien knew what they were actually asking.

“Dad will be on his best behaviour.”

“Yeah, I’m sure he will.” Beelzebub closed their eyes in disappointment, and in that moment they knew Damien was too. It had always been what all of them had done when their father was in a room with an open bar. Close their eyes. In a quiet voice, Beelzebub made their plea. “Listen, just give me this, alright? Move some people around.”

Damien sighed again, and Beelzebub smiled because they knew him, and they knew that was a giving-in sigh. “Okay, fine. I’ll talk to Gem. What’s the name?”

“Name?”

“Of your date.”

Beelzebub’s eyes flew open. They had somehow neglected to rehearse this part of the conversation in advance. “Uh, oh. It’s Aaron.”

“E-R-I-N, is it?”

They cringed as they heard him searching for a pen. It wasn’t like it was a ridiculous assumption to make. Statistically, for them, it was more likely to be an  _ Erin _ than an  _ Aaron _ .

Beelzebub took a deep breath. “It’s A-a-r-o-n, actually. Dr. Aaron Gabriel.”

“Oh, wow, okay. Will you be sharing a room with…” Damien trailed off a moment, weighed his options. “...them?”

He said it like it was some sort of honourary. All of their family made such a fucking show of it. It was almost worse than all the so-called slipping up they did.

“Him,” said Beelzebub coldly. “He’s a him.”

“Oh,” said Damien like a stupid git. Which he was.

“He’s a work colleague and he’s a vegan so don’t give him pork or whatever the hell you’re serving,” Beelzebub snapped.

That roused Damien from whatever pronoun related fugue he’d descended into. “We’re serving salmon which I know you know. But I can talk to the caterer. He won’t be the only vegan.” Then a change of tone. “When did you start seeing…him?”

They hated how optimistic he sounded, how much more interested he seemed than any of the other times they’d mentioned seeing anyone else. Heteronormative bullshit.

“I’ve gotta go. I’ll see you on the tenth?” Beelzebub looked at their watch. Where did they have to go? Bed, they supposed.

“Yeah,” Damien muttered. “Alright.”

Beelzebub ended the call, and tossed the phone aside. 

In the quiet of their living room they felt anxiety grabbing at their throat. They desperately didn’t want to be alone at this, didn’t want to sit next to their mother who would be ignoring their father as he made increasingly unfunny jokes the deeper he got into a bottle of wine. They wanted some buffer between them and the cousins and aunts and whoever the hell else had been invited to this thing. They wanted an escape route.

Maybe that’s what this whole thing with Aaron was. An escape. Escape from the mundanities of the routine they’d cultivated over years of being on their own. Escape from solo lunches bent over their keyboard, eyes gritty from sitting too close to the screen, reading e-mail after e-mail. Escape from the idea that alone was what they were supposed to be, that no one could match them, that no one could be worth the trouble.

* * *

On Wednesday they went to his office at lunchtime and the door was closed. Beelzebub made to open it, just waltz in like they’d been accustomed to when Elizabeth, Aaron’s executive assistant, popped out from behind her screen and stopped them.

“Just a moment, Professor, sorry. He’s finishing up with a student.”

Beelzebub took their hand off the door as if it’d been hot to touch. “Oh.”

“His meeting ran over. He should be done shortly.” Elizabeth looked up at Beelzebub from behind her desk. 

Beelzebub liked Elizabeth. She was discreet. She never looked surprised to see Beelzebub, but there was no knowing glance or weighted smile. Just the standard greeting like it was totally standard business that the chair of the biology department would spend all their lunch hours in the office of the english chair.

“Right. Thanks.” Beelzebub found their way to one of the chairs beside Elizabeth’s desk, and the two of them sat in a companionable and professional silence, the only sound in the space the clicking of the keyboard.

Shortly thereafter the door opened and a young woman stepped out. Tall, blond hair, all legs, smiling and ignoring both occupants of Elizabeth’s office. She clacked out on heeled boots and Elizabeth watched her go over her glasses, eyebrows raised. Then she angled her chair towards Beelzebub and tipped her head towards Aaron’s door.

“You can head in,” she said.

Beelzebub was on their feet and through the door before they remembered to thank her. With the door shut behind them they turned to Aaron who, like every day, looked exceptionally pleased to see them. They’d make fun of him if they didn’t like it so much.

“Who was that?” they asked, settling into their chair, sounding less casual than they intended.

“Who?” said Aaron, looking genuinely puzzled.

“Are you kidding me? The runway model who just left your office. That’s who.” Did he really not know who they were referring to? The very young woman who just happened to possess a striking resemblance to his ex?

“Oh, right. Danica, Danielle… something. Student. Asked me to supervise her fourth year thesis.”

There was a creeping discomfort in the pit of Beelzebub’s stomach. “Are you going to?”

He shook his head, completely disinterested in the conversation. “No, her focus is more in Uriel’s territory. What’s for lunch?”

“Have you ever dated a student?” they asked sharply, before they knew they had wanted to ask it. It wasn’t a ridiculous question, they thought. Especially not for Aaron who attracted a particular kind of attention. He must’ve had ample opportunity.

They knew professors had entanglements with students, made up excuses about rural Scotland being pretty thin in terms of dating, about how 19-year-olds were basically adults anyway. Beelzebub had reamed out one instructor early in their time as chair, and word spread that it wouldn’t be tolerated in their department moving forward. But that was Biology. They knew other departments were more lenient.

Aaron’s face transformed at the question. “Why would you ask that?” he said, disgusted.

The strength of his reaction made them pause. But, “Answer the question.”

“No, I haven’t dated a fucking student. Where the hell did that come from?” The answer came without hesitation. He was properly offended now, arms crossed over his broad chest.

And they believed him, was the thing. Aaron wasn’t a liar, not with them. But there was some impulse in Beelzebub that flared whenever a fight was at hand - the rational side of them that should have said _that question was an accusation and I’m sorry_ got shoved to the side, and instead the primitive and nightmarish part of them donned defensive gear and battled forward, in spite of what they actually wanted.

A laugh escaped their lips, a bitter chuckle to serve as armour, conceal their soft spots. “You’ve seen the way they look at you.”

More than once crossing campus, coming back from some meeting in Council Chambers, a gaggle of students would pass Aaron and Beelzebub. “Hi, Professor Gabriel,” one would say, which would set the others off into a pique of delighted embarrassment. Looking back on this now, they had to admit that he barely acknowledged these students.

Aaron shook his head and sucked his teeth. “I have never once, in my entire goddamned career even  _ thought _ about dating a student, about  _ flirting _ with them, about anything. It’s against the rules here anyway.”

“People still do it though.” They wanted to absolutely kick themselves for continuing to push, for insisting on this moment that never needed to happen in the first place.

“I don’t,” Aaron said. It sounded final.

“Right,” said Beelzebub, chagrined but trying not to show it.

A tense and thick silence settled over them a few moments. Aaron turned to his computer screen, fiddled with the mouse. Beelzebub wondered if they should leave, if this lunch hour was irreparably spoiled.

“If they are looking at me with anything other than crushing defeat,” said Aaron, not taking his eyes from the screen, “it’s because they haven’t taken a class with me.” He looked at Beelzebub sideways; his tone was light in a laboured way.

“Oh, yeah?” Beelzebub’s fight had left them, and they felt distinctly foolish.

“You should see my teaching evals. They’re brutal.” He opened a file drawer in his desk and extracted a file, tossing it in front of Beelzebub. “Look.”

Beelzebub took the file in their hands and opened it. He’d printed his student evaluation reports from the end of each academic term. At first glance the ratings were high, especially for course content, student interest. Then they looked at the comments. “Wow.”

“That’s what I said. My standards are ‘too high’ apparently.”

Beelzebub read from one of the entries. “ _ Prof. Gabriel never gives As as a point of pride. This guy is a fascist. _ ”

Aaron laughed. “That kid doesn’t know what facist means. They weren’t going to get an A anyway.”

“ _ Answer to every question is ‘read the syllabus.’ Not helpful at all. _ ”

“They don’t read the fucking syllabus.”

“ _ Biggest dick on campus. _ ”

“Well,” said Aaron, swiveling his chair back to Beelzebub, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. “Can’t argue with that one.”

Beelzebub snapped the file shut and swallowed a laugh, but a smile still snuck its way to their lips. Their cheeks felt the strain of an unfamiliar grin.

“There we go,” said Aaron quietly, reaching over to take the file back. “Now, what’s for lunch?”

* * *

It wasn’t much of a date, marking papers and midterms at Aaron’s dining room table. But then again, a more traditional model of wooing had never really been their speed. Aaron had made some sort of pad thai dish, had made chicken for Beelzebub’s serving, which they thought was nice but hadn’t said so, just scarfed it down.

The two of them had been at it for two hours. The sun had set. It was easier to do these marking marathons with someone else, sniping about student responses and bell curves. Aaron would occasionally read out a choice snippet or two from an essay, laughing to himself. He seemed entirely at ease. It served to lessen Beelzebub’s anxiety as well. Not dispel it entirely, simply push it back a little further into the recesses of their mind. They could take their cues from him. If he was relaxed then maybe they could relax too.

He was in the glasses again, which had done something funny to their stomach when Aaron had opened the door. Now, sitting at the head of the table, watching him scribble notes in red ink in the margins, they let their eyes wander over his form in a way they hadn’t before.

Strong jaw, hair greying at the temples. He hadn’t shaved that morning, which they were also growing to appreciate. His perfect posture was made all the more notable by Beelzebub’s habit to make even the most ergonomic chairs a venue for slouching. He had nice arms. Maybe Beelzebub should tell him that. 

They wanted, suddenly, ached to touch him, and that was new. Frantic, too. They weren’t used to desire that prickled at their skin, a desire they actively had to restrain. They didn’t have to hold back, they supposed, but to give over to those impulses, to surrender control over their faculties still provoked a certain kind of fear. They didn’t know what giving in looked like.

Tentatively, they lifted their feet up under the table, and slid them into his lap.

Aaron looked up over his glasses, a small smile on his lips. “Hi there,” he said, reaching down and taking one of their feet in hand, pushing his thumb gently into the ball of it. Above the table, he kept working.

He was pleased. Beelzebub could see it in his features. His eyes were soft and the smile had stayed. His fingers pressed into one of their feet, then the other, a caress more than a massage. It was so gentle, which was what they had asked for, but something about it was overwhelming too. They couldn’t remember the last time someone had given them affection, attention, with this sort of ease.

When he brought his hand up to move a paper over, Beelzebub boldly slid down in their seat and shifted one of their feet further between Aaron’s legs.

Aaron immediately looked up, looked over at them, smile sharp and focused. “Oh,” he said, and let his hips rise a bit, pressing back into the sole of Beelzebub’s foot. 

Yes, this was more comfortable territory. Safer, somehow, than a caress without expectation.

They grabbed the edges of their seat to anchor themself, and their foot found the rapidly hardening length in his trousers. They traced it lightly, their own forwardness surprising them. That was the effect Aaron had on them, Beelzebub thought. He made them feel like they didn’t quite know themself after all.

Abruptly, he rose and their feet slid off his lap. Before they could readjust he’d pulled their chair out from the table and was leaning over them, his arms straight and grabbing the seat, bracketing their thighs. His face, so close to theirs.

“I think we’re done marking for tonight,” he said, serious but slightly flushed.

“Do you?” said Beelzebub, because they were quickly losing their capacity to think of a smarter quip.

In response he picked them up and held them against him, his nice arms wrapped around their thighs, under their arse. His face was level with the middle of their chest and he moaned into it. “Missed this,” he murmured into their sternum.

_ Me too _ , Beelzebub thought but did not say.

He carried them up the stairs and to his room where they hadn’t been before. It was predictably white and grey, simply decorated, everything with the unmistakable whiff of money about it. It smelled like a hotel, sort of anonymous and without any personality, but the sheets were heavenly soft and the mattress had the perfect amount of give and there wasn’t any room to complain. 

Aaron was above them, his hips slotted between their thighs.

“Tell me if I’m too heavy,” he breathed out, holding himself up on his elbows. “Don’t want to hurt you.”

They surged up to kiss him, their fingers digging into his hair, legs wrapping tight around his waist. He hadn’t touched them all week, and they wouldn’t have let him anyway since they’d only seen each other at work. Beelzebub was famished and they hadn’t even realized how desperate they were until he was on them.

His tongue was in their mouth, thick against theirs. They keened around the intrusion which only encouraged him further. His big hands gripped their thighs, their hips. Aaron rolled the two of them onto their sides and slotted his arm around their back, pulling Beelzebub to him as close as he could.

They kissed without speaking. Beelzebub’s hands on Aaron’s chest, then everywhere. They felt sixteen-years-old, making out for the first time, discovering what all the fuss was about. Aaron was so hot against them, and his need unmistakable. Theirs too, the heat growing between their legs. 

“I can’t stop thinking about your cunt,” he whispered into their mouth, and the hair on the back of their neck stood on end. “Every night I lie here and dream about how you taste.”

Beelzebub inhaled sharply, clutched his shirt between their fingers.

“I want to fuck you,” he said between kisses, his hands never leaving their body. “Jesus Christ, I want to feel you around me.”

His voice was half gone and thick with need. It was unraveling them, making them sink deeper into the blankets.

They wanted him inside them. They wanted to know what it felt like to be filled up by him, to receive him that way. 

The depth of their desire to let him inside unmoored them. They felt rewired, like something fundamental in their DNA had been rewritten. And that shift was so great that the fear it inspired in them was undeniable, present, heavy. To want the way they wanted, this new and foreign thing, it was too much.

Beelzebub didn’t want to psych themself out now, not when this felt so good, not when he was right here with them. They ran their hands under his shirt and then he was taking it off, his denims too. His fingers skirted around the waistband of their trousers, waiting for their assent.

“Off,” they said, and that was enough.

He undressed them, slower than he’d stripped himself of his own clothes, kissing each piece of exposed skin with a reverence they’d never experienced. Moments like this would make the question -  _ why? _ \- flare up again. Why them? Why him? Why did this feel so good and make so much sense in the moment when it was so far away from anything they had wanted before. Then those thoughts shut down as Aaron pressed his open mouth to their cunt, their pants still on.

He teased their clit with his tongue through the fabric until it was soaked. Aaron’s hands held their thighs open, the breadth of his fingers so wide he could grasp them almost entirely. They felt splayed out, exposed. The electrifying nature of being stripped bare in this new way could’ve made them come, if they let themself.

With a finger he pulled the fabric tight against their cunt, that damp friction making their spine arch up and off the bed. He sucked at the swollen bud visible through the fabric and Beelzebub cried out, Aaron’s name lost to the sensation.

Fuck, he was good. How was he so good?

He came up to kiss their panting mouth while his fingers trailed over their cunt. “I have an idea,” he said, smiling, blinking heavily. Then he was sitting on the edge of the bed, pulling something out of the drawer in the nightstand.

While he was momentarily distracted, Beelzebub pushed themself up to sitting. They were still in the pants, soaked through with spit and their own wetness, and the top they wore under their shirts. Not a bra, they didn’t need one. Just another layer. Protection. They’d left it on last time, and Aaron had left it on this time. Last time they needed the shield, that barrier. 

Before they could change their mind, they took it off. Dropped it to the side. Slipped their pants off and sent those to the floor as well. They inhaled sharply as he looked back to them, and his mouth softly opened.

Aaron said nothing, but leaned towards them and kissed them, almost sweetly.

“I like this,” he said, his fingers trailing over the tattoo of a rose between their small breasts.

Beelzebub said nothing, but dropped their forehead towards his, and watched his fingers on their skin.

After a few breaths, they tipped their head back, and he looked into their eyes. “Didn’t you say something about an idea?” they asked.

“Yeah,” he said, smiling wolfishly. He kissed them again.

“On your back,” said Aaron, and it was somewhere between a directive and a question, always giving them the opportunity to say no. 

They make a conscious choice to trust him, to see where this was going, knowing if they tensed or made a single indication of discomfort he’d stop. Beelzebub settled on the mattress, one hand behind their head, the other resting on their stomach, legs drawn up and bent at the knees. They looked up at Aaron settled at their feet, and he moaned, deep in his throat.

“You look incredible,” he murmured, running a hand up their front. He let it linger under one of their breasts, lightly cupping it, then drew away.

“What are you doing?” they asked, not quite able to see from their position.

“Just making things move a little more smoothly,” Aaron said. He held up a small container of lube he must have retrieved from the nightstand, then tossed it to the side. Then, “your thighs.”

He spread their legs, knelt between their knees, cock in hand. With what appeared to be great restraint, he tapped it lightly on their cunt. It felt heavy. It was exactly as big as they remembered it being. He took their thighs with a firm grip and pressed them together, pulled the backs of their legs flush to his chest so their ankles came over one shoulder, and pressed his prick, slick with lube between their thighs.

His own knees spread to bring them closer and Beelzebub’s hands went to his knees as he thrust through for the first time. The head of his cock emerged from between their thighs, dragging against their cunt. 

“Fuck,” Aaron choked. “Is this okay?”

Beelzebub nodded and he turned to lightly kiss their ankle where it rested on his shoulder.

“Is it doing -” His voice faltered as his hips bucked again. His eyes had closed and his one-handed grip on Beelzebub’s hips grew tighter. “- anything for you?”

They smiled, felt warm. “It’s good,” they said, because it was.

His eyes opened again. “You should touch yourself,” Aaron breathed out. “Show me what you do to bring yourself off.” He was picking up his pace, they could hear and feel his hips snap against theirs.

Without breaking eye contact Beelzebub reached one of their hands between their legs, between their folds and slid their clit between two fingers. They inhaled shakily. They were still sensitive, hot from Aaron’s earlier attention. His cock moved over their hand.

Gently, they began to rub their clit between their knuckles, knowing if they went any harder they’d get to the edge too quickly for their taste. They liked to drag this out when they were on their own, make a night of it.

They swallowed, and with their eyes on his they brought their other hand to their nipple, lightly pulled at it. The effect was immediate, turning up every sensation and lighting up every nerve. Their skin burned.

“Fuck, Beez,” Aaron gasped. “Oh fuck. Look at you.”

He moaned as he watched them, eye glazed over and lips parted, breath ragged.

There was some showmanship to this, and Beelzebub found themself enjoying it. Liked how Aaron would gasp for breath each time their chin tilted up in ecstasy, the little moan that would escape his mouth each time they pinched their nipple between their fingers. They’d laugh at how easy it was if it weren’t still so strange, if how much they wanted him wasn’t consuming them too.

“You feel so good, baby. I’m so close.”

“Again with the ‘baby’,” Beelzebub breathed out, moving their fingers against their clit faster. “You want me to call you Daddy? S’that what you want?”

Aaron’s eyes flashed and he half laughed, half growled. “Fuck, would you?”

Beelzebub couldn’t tell if it was a joke, which was just as well because they couldn’t figure out if what they’d said had been one either.

But then, maybe it wasn’t, on either side, because with a groan Aaron came, pushing up and forward, and nearly folded them in half. Their thighs, stomach were suddenly slick with his spill. 

They must have looked stunned because immediately, in his recovery, he was apologizing, pulling back, and dropping their legs on either side of his waist. It was impressive how quickly he refocused on them.

“Are you close, baby?” he asked, slipping his hand down to cover theirs where they were still rubbing themself, winding themself tighter and tighter. 

They nodded, feeling the come starting to drip down their sides.

His hand moved to their slit, teased it. “Can I-”

“Yes,” they said, near demanded.

He slipped his fingers inside them, started to fuck them. Each deep thrust opening them up, coaxing them closer. Then his other hand slid up and cupped the back of their head.

“Look at me when you come, baby.”

It was a gamble, and he must have known it. The intensity of the request, the naked pleading in it could have been more than they were willing to give him. But instead Beelzebub found themself tensing every muscle in a winding passion then furling themselves past the point of no return under his sharp and focused gaze. 

“That’s it,” he urged breathlessly. “So good, baby. You’re so good.”

They had power over him, yes, an unreasonable amount given their position, but he did too, over them. They had never allowed themself to be so watched, so observed, tracked. They cried out, open-mouthed in shock as much as pleasure. 

This wasn’t a lark. It wasn’t casual. It was the furthest thing from.

Their body slackened in his arms and he leaned over them to kiss them open mouthed. Beez felt like something had been unlocked. Some door in their chest where the hinges had been painted over and left to rust. But to know what was on the other side? They weren’t prepared to know, not in this moment. Not yet. 

They swallowed back the feeling, held the door shut.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, summerofspock is my fellow Ineffable Bureaucracy enthusiast and spectacular beta.

It was just that Aaron’s hands were always warm. He radiated heat while Beelzebub spent half their time in the winter months under an electric blanket, or sending Carmine to refill their hot water bottle several times a day when they were in the office. The warmth never seemed to make it to their hands and feet. They were always cold.

When they woke up that first morning at Aaron’s, tangled in white sheets with an impossibly high thread count, Beelzebub was warm. It was the first thing they noticed. His broad hand was splayed over their belly, under the shirt he’d given them to wear to bed. 

They thought he was sleeping but as they shifted his hand slid around to their waist, and pulled them closer to him.

“Morning,” he grumbled into the side of their head. “W’time is it?”

Beelzebub checked their watch. “6:15.”

He groaned. “Why are you awake? Go back to sleep.”

Their shoulder flush with his chest, he kissed their hair, their ear. It was so warm.

“Not tired,” they muttered.

Aaron roused himself then, blinked his eyes and pushed himself up on his elbow. His hair was messed up from where it had pressed against the pillow. The early morning light sneaking under the blinds set a streak of skin across his chest aglow, and Beelzebub tracked it with their knuckles.

Aaron’s hand stirred on their stomach, and his thumb began to stroke their skin.

“I think we should try something,” he said quietly.

There was something in his tone that made goosebumps rise on their arms, legs. “What?” they asked, voice small and still slack with sleep.

“You were worried last week about…” He trailed off and smiled, looking down. “About me fitting.” The hand on their stomach drifted down toward their cunt.

“Oh,” said Beelzebub, somehow warmer than before.

“So why don’t we work on that?”

Beelzebub’s dark eyes widened and Aaron took his hand away from them immediately, held it up in front of them.

“Just with my hand, baby. Just my hand. Just what we’ve done before.” He slid his hand down their front again, their skin aflame in his wake, and let it settle on their thigh. 

“What do you think?” he asked, looking down on them. 

“I suppose,” they murmured, significantly more casually than they felt. “Just your hand,” they confirmed.

“Just my hand,” he said, as his fingers traced their slit.

When he slid his fingers into them, he kissed them, and the morning disappeared.

* * *

On Tuesday night, without quite consciously making a decision to, Beelzebub hopped on their bike and cycled to Aaron’s. Each metre that brought them closer to his ridiculous house made their chest constrict, their heart climb up into their throat. As they made it to the front gate and abandoned the bike there, they struggled to catch their breath.

The door opened before they reached it. Aaron stood at the threshold confused, but pleased. 

“Hey you,” he said, as Beelzebub twisted his shirt into their small fists and pulled his mouth to theirs. He brought them inside and kicked the door shut. 

In the morning, well before the alarm went off, they brought him awake with their hand around his imposing length.

“Do what you did Sunday morning?” they asked, their lips trailing his unshaven jaw line in the dark. He was eager to oblige.

He liked doing this, they realized. Moving slow, slow, slow and coaxing their orgasm from them with soft touches and whispered words. In the early morning hours, they hadn’t yet had time to remember who they were. There were no witnesses keeping score, and they were too tired and sleep drunk to second guess their own desire. 

As the sun rose, they got on their bike and cycled home to shower and change, get ready for work. There were no cars on the road. Their cunt ached the most exquisite ache between their legs, pressed against the bike seat.

The same routine on Thursday night into Friday morning. 

“We should call in sick,” Aaron said, opening his fingers inside them and taking their moan into his mouth. “Stay here. Do this all day.”

“We’re chairs,” replied Beelzebub breathlessly, “we don’t call in sick. We, oh -”

His thumb was lightly circling their clit. “What was that?” he said, and they could feel him smiling.

“We work from home,” Beelzebub finished, tilting their hips up against his hand.

“Let’s work from home then.” He kissed them, his tongue slipping past their lips.

For a moment they entertained the idea. All day in bed, Aaron drawing out climax after climax, telling them exactly what he wanted to do to them. But -

They pushed themself up to a sitting position and pulled away from him. "I've got stuff to do."

His hands were running over their thighs, trying to bring them back to him. "Skip it."

They shrugged and swallowed hard, refusing to look at him. They picked their clothes up off the floor, started putting them on. "Gotta go. But I'll see you at lunch."

They heard the rustle of sheets and the mattress shifted beneath them. He'd laid back down. "Yeah, lunch. Why don't you have breakfast here? I'll drive the both of us in."

"I've got to change. Can't show up in dirty clothes."

"Alright," he said, defeated. "Text me when you get home."

They waved over their shoulder, bounded down the stairs, and let themself out. 

* * *

He came to theirs on Saturday night, tactfully ignoring the mess that had accumulated again, bringing dinner with him. He found more reasons to touch them, fingers skimming their waist in the kitchen, reaching down to pat their backside whenever they passed him. Aaron kissed them more often - at the curve of their neck, the crown of their head. All the while, a tug of war raged inside them.

This attention and care was entirely new to Beelzebub. Love was not a foreign tongue but to accept it from another person was a new and unfamiliar dialect. They could explore it, muddle through, but they didn’t know if they could live there, if they were meant to.

Everything about this, about him, was temporary. Unsustainable. Nonsensical. Here in Thistle’s End, or his cottage which he claimed didn’t have a name, they could pretend for a bit. But out there, beyond classrooms and offices, what did this look like? How could it work?

In the morning, he buried his face in their cunt and fucked them with his fingers. They came in slow and rolling waves, each climax helping them release a little more, tension slipping away. They could’ve fallen asleep again when he was done, lost the day to napping and Aaron’s attention.

But he asked, surprisingly politely, if he could come on their chest, and then, even more surprisingly, they said yes. It wasn’t that it was something they were particularly interested in or wanted to try, but the anxiety in his question was curious to them, and they wondered what was behind it. Aaron had never been shy.

Straddling their hips, Aaron brought himself off, broad hand moving quickly. His free hand cupped the back of their neck, kneading gently. He grimaced with effort.

“Fuck,” he muttered between sharp intakes of breath. He was looking past Beelzebub, onto the pillow, but all it took was an abrupt shift of gaze to pull the trigger. When his eyes met theirs he cursed again and his body shuddered. Hot spend pooled in the centre of Beelzebub’s chest, covering the rose tattoo.

They had expected to hate it. They didn’t. It was strangely affecting to be under him like this, to watch the surrender in his face as he came. Their hands skimmed his thighs, unsettled yet safe.

His orgasm was accompanied by desperate murmuring - “please” and “baby” and “so good” and “I... I… I…”

“I -” he said, leaning over to kiss them, tilting their chin in his hand. “Beelzebub, I-”

They knew in that moment that he was dangerously close to some admission, and that was not on. They were not ready. They could not let this get more complicated for them than it already was.

“I think we should go get groceries,” Beelzebub said in a voice more controlled than they were feeling. Their heart was crawling out their throat and they swallowed it back down.

“Oh,” said Aaron, his eyebrows knitting together. He sat back up. “I… sure. Okay. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

They lay there as he disappeared into the washroom, panic still flickering in their chest.

The other shoe dropped in the cereal aisle. Aaron was still perusing the natural health section, in which they hadn’t wanted to linger. Beelzebub was looking at different cereal boxes, as if they weren’t going to get the store brand frosted corn flakes that they always got, when another cart sidled up beside them.

“Hiya,” said the cart’s driver. “How’s tricks?”

Their head snapped to the side. Crowley, who they rarely saw outside of work and who they’d never seen in this grocery store which had been chosen specifically because it was one town over from the village. They held the cereal to their chest like a plate of armour.

“I, uh, fine,” they sputtered. 

“What do you think of these?” asked an especially prim voice from behind Crowley. Fell, Crowley’s partner was handing him a jar of something. Beelzebub didn’t register what it was. They were too busy trying to figure out an exit plan, trying to find a way out of this situation before - 

Beelzebub’s cart shifted beside them as Aaron placed a can of organic chickpeas there. His eyes were on Crowley and Fell. “Hi,” he said, a professional, cool smile on his lips.

“Dr. Gabriel,” said Fell in quiet surprise, then his eyes dropped to Beelzebub. “And Dr. Prince. Hello.”

“We were just leaving,” said Beelzebub in a clipped voice, louder than they had meant to. They hadn’t got half of what they needed but what they needed  _ now _ was to get out of this store. Needed to get away from the depth of surprise in Crowley’s eyes, darting from Beelzebub, to Aaron, to the can of chickpeas that had been placed in the shared cart.

“Were you?” asked Crowley, his shock plain on his face. Fell had managed to maintain a much more neutral expression, though the corner of his mouth was twitching.

They felt hot, their skin itched unpleasantly and their legs burned with the desire to run. “Yep,” they said, taking hold of the cart and swinging it around.

“Let’s go,” they whispered to Aaron, barreling past him. “Let’s go now.”

Aaron said nothing as they checked out together, didn’t even look at them. They barely noticed, not with every part of them focused on a single goal: get out.

As they stalked to Aaron’s car, their phone vibrated in their back pocket. Two texts from Crowley that read in succession:

**!!!!!!!!!!**

**??????????**

How the hell did they respond to that?  _ None of your fucking business. It’s not serious. You didn’t see what you think you saw. _ Only one of those was remotely true.

Aaron turned on the car, and pulled out of the parking lot.

“What was that about?” he asked, his voice was eerily calm, devoid of any emotion. Beelzebub couldn’t look at him.

“I wanted to go,” they said, as if that constituted a real answer. 

“Yeah,” he said, a wry chuckle escaping his lips with a huff. “Obviously you wanted to go. Why did you want to go?” 

Because they couldn’t quite say why, they shrugged, and looked out the window pointedly.

“Beelzebub,” he said, their name tense and brittle on his tongue.

They responded with silence.

“You didn’t want to be seen with me.”

They looked out the front windshield, wanting to look at him but too afraid of what he had just put words to. There was truth in that, wasn’t there? That to stand beside Aaron, publically, without the excuse of a workplace, set them at odds with who they’d always believed and presented themselves to be: a fiercely and recklessly independent queer know-it-all who wouldn’t be caught dead sharing a bed with a man who deigned to call them ‘baby.’

“Wow,” he said with a sardonic bitterness. “You’re not even going to deny it.”

“Aaron,” they started, their voice sounding not like their own.

“What?” he said, cracking the word between his teeth. The air in the car was tight with anger and humiliation.

They took a deep breath, and gripped the handle on the door tightly, for want of something to do with their hands. “It’s not-”

“It’s not what?” Aaron’s voice had gone steely, his knuckles were white on the steering wheel.

“You’re not letting me finish,” said Beelzebub, their voice raising in volume, defensive and panicked.

He sniffed aggressively. “Then finish.”

“I…” they started, and then realized that they had nothing. They couldn’t say he was wrong, but they didn’t want to say he was right.

When he realized that they had no answer, he took a deep breath and they could tell he was holding himself back, struggling to keep the anger at bay. “All this time, all this fucking time you’ve been questioning me and pushing me because in your own brain you decided you were not my type, and going on and on like I’m the one who’s going to hurt you, and cast you aside. 

“And all this fucking time it’s been you who was embarrassed of me.” He flexed his fingers on the steering wheel.

“Not embarrassed,” they said, hesitating a beat too long.

“Fuck off, Beelzebub,” he said louder than before. Then, quietly, maybe to himself, “You think I’m so stupid.”

“Aaron.” His name was heavy on their tongue. 

“Don’t. Do not talk.”

For all the times they’d been with him and felt like running, this was not one of them. The air crackled with tension, but they wanted to stay put until it shifted, until he wasn’t mad anymore. They knew that for that to happen, they needed to say something, anything. Something soothing, something to dispel the thick anger that came off him in sheets.

While they searched for the right turn of phrase to fix it, Aaron pulled into the drive of their cottage.

Now or never.

“Aaron, listen-”

“Get your groceries, and get out of my car.” He didn’t look at them. His eyes stayed resolutely glued to the dashboard.

“Please,” they said, taking off their seatbelt and turning towards him. They started to reach out their hand, maybe if they touched him... “Just -”

“Get out of my fucking car!” His head whipped in their direction and his expression made them withdraw their hand in an instant. Fury and pain and something else, something raw that made Beelzebub’s stomach turn over.

“Okay,” they said, opening the door. “Okay.”

They took their groceries from the backseat. Aaron had turned back to stare out the windshield. They watched his jaw clench as they closed the car door with their foot.

Beelzebub had to jump back as he shifted the car into gear and tore out of the drive, gravel kicking up under the wheels. In seconds, he was gone.

“Well, fuck,” Beelzebub said performatively, trying to shake out the way all their muscles had turned to stone.

They put away groceries in a daze, not quite processing what had just happened.

Maybe, they thought, he just needed a night, then they’d have lunch and laugh about Beelzebub’s little episode and things would go back to the way they’d been. Maybe.

Except on Monday they found themself frozen at their desk at noon, unable to collect their lunch and head up to the fifth floor like they’d been doing for the past four weeks. The mere possibility that he’d turn them away made a statue of them. So they didn’t go. And Aaron didn’t text, or call, or e-mail to ask where they were

They dreamed about him, dreamed about his hands on their neck and their thighs. Dreamed about kissing him and then him fading away. They couldn’t sleep through the night, waking up with blankets twisted around their legs. They felt faintly sick.

There was a late-winter cold snap. Perched on their bike with a scarf wrapped around their throat, hugging the shoulder of the road as they biked to the college, they thought about the warmth of his body, about calling him and asking him for a lift. They didn’t.

Sometimes they’d pick up the phone and read the last texts they’d exchanged the day before the fight:

**leaving home now for yours. can i pick you up anything?**

**Hmm. Irn-Bru?**

**absolutely not. see you soon. Xx**

On Thursday night, lying in bed, they realized that the pillow next to them had ceased to hold his scent.

First thing on Friday morning, they took the elevator to the fifth floor, shaking hands shoved in their pockets. They had no plan, which was not like them. Maybe he just needed to yell a bit, get some stuff out of his system. They could take it if they had to. Just this once.

When they reached the office the door was closed and Elizabeth was at her desk.

“Good morning, Dr. Prince,” she said, looking up from her monitor. “He’s not in. Professor Gabriel was asked last minute to head up an external review for the English department at Newcastle.”

“Right,” said Beelzebub, as if this was a reminder and not brand new information. They turned to leave, but stumbled as Elizabeth cleared her throat.

“Everything alright?” she asked delicately, discreetly.

Beelzebub didn’t answer, and didn’t look back. 

* * *

For the first time since her maternity leave started, Beelzebub texted Ruth Dagon asking to visit. Dagon was the closest person Beelzebub had to a best friend, though they didn’t have much to measure it against. They trusted Dagon as a colleague and an ally. They could share the occasional personal garbage that came up. 

But they hadn’t told her about Aaron, using the excuse that it wouldn’t do to serve as a distraction to the baby, who had made an appearance mid-February.

Dagon had said Beelzebub could visit on Sunday afternoon, and so that’s when they arrived at Dagon’s doorstep, realizing belatedly that people usually brought gifts or food in these situations. Dagon told them to let themself in and they did, closing the door behind them and taking off their shoes in the messy foyer.

“Hello?” they called.

“Hi, Beelzebub, come in,” came a voice from the kitchen. An olive-skinned woman with tightly coiled curls emerged, shaking a baby bottle in one hand and holding a dishrag in the other. It was Dagon’s wife, who had never been Beelzebub’s greatest fan but who seemed congenial enough at the moment.

“Hey, Orisa.” 

“Dagon’s in the living room. Can you take this in?” She extended the bottle to Beelzebub.

They accepted it with more trepidation than a baby bottle warranted. “Er, yeah.”

“Thank you,” she said, businesslike, as she disappeared from view.

Beelzebub held the bottle as if it were a stick of dynamite, and walked back to the sunny room where Dagon sat in repose in a large armchair, a sleeping infant laying on her legs.

“Hiya,” they said, delivering the bottle.

Dagon gave them a tired smile. “About bloody time,” she laughed. Then she gently took the baby lying on her legs, and laid him face up on her chest. His dark eyes opened to the world. “Meet Daniel.”

Beelzebub stood a solid five feet away, waved minutely at the infant. “Hi, Daniel.” The baby’s expression didn’t change. “I don’t think he knows what’s happening.”

Dagon smirked. “He probably doesn’t but it’s the thought that counts.”

Beelzebub sunk into the couch behind them. Why was all the furniture so big in Dagon’s house? It felt like a personal attack. They shifted themself as to not get stuck between the cushions. “I should’ve brought lunch or something.”

“That  _ is _ what people do when they visit friends with a new baby.” Dagon tilted her head, and squinted her eyes at Beelzebub.

Beelzebub looked away. “I don’t know a lot of new babies. S’going okay then?”

“About as well as it could, trying to keep a person alive. How’s my class?”

“Yeah, good. Fine.” Their gaze flitted around the room. Every surface was covered in baby clothes, bottles, toys and contraptions that Beelzebub couldn’t identify but were bound to be baby related as well.

“Alright. What’s up?”

When Beelzebub looked back to Dagon, her ice blue eyes were focused and intense, already starting to peel away their outer layers.

“Uh, came to see you and baby.” That wasn’t a lie, was it?

Dagon smiled. “Want to hold him?”

“I do not,” was Beelzebub’s immediate response.

From the kitchen, Orisa called out. “Hold the baby, Beelzebub.”

Dagon was holding the baby and standing up. She was crossing the room. Before Beelzebub could stand a very tiny human was being placed in their arms and they couldn’t very well just drop him, could they.

“Oh no,” whispered Beelzebub as the full weight of Daniel settled in their arms. He looked somewhat startled and uncomfortable and Beelzebub realized the two of them were probably making the same face at one another.

It wasn’t that they didn’t like babies specifically. It was just that they didn’t have a lot of time for anyone who couldn’t legally buy cigarettes.

“There,” said Dagon, withdrawing to her chair. “You’re both alive.”

“For now,” sniped Beelzebub. “This thing is huge.”

“My  _ son _ is 10 pounds which is standard.” Dagon didn’t sound offended. Instead they sounded suspiciously pleased. She smiled at them, gaze sharp. “Now that you can’t run out of here what’s got you bent out of shape?”

“I’m not!” they protested uselessly, not wanting to jostle the baby too much. This had quickly become a deeply stressful situation.

Dagon laughed. “There is no way you would’ve come here willingly to see a brand new baby if you didn’t have something you needed to complain about.”

“Wow,” they muttered, making a show of rolling their eyes. “Glad you think so highly of our friendship.”

“Don’t act offended when you know it’s true. I’ve known you long enough. Now, out with it.”

Without missing a beat, the disembodied voice of Orisa called out from the other room again. “Heads up - you know she’s not going to take Daniel away until you tell her.”

Dagon smiled, nodded. “She’s right.”

Beelzebub looked down, and Daniel was serenely gazing up at them.  _ Okay, _ thought Beelzebub.  _ Just stay like that and we can be here all day.  _

As if on cue, his face screwed up and he took in a bigger breath than a creature that size should be able to, and started to cry.

Beelzebub descended immediately into panic. “Fuck, okay. I was dating someone but I’ve been dumped now and I think it may have been well deserved.”

Dagon did Beelzebub the courtesy of looking genuinely shocked. “Who the hell were you dating?” she asked, voice up an octave.

“Does it matter?” said Beelzebub, wanting to move the conversation along and be relieved of the baby.

“Yeah, it does! Who? Was it some internet thing?” 

Beelzebub shook their head, shifted the baby in their arms. Neither they nor Daniel were happy.

Dagon’s eyes narrowed. “You didn’t meet someone at work, did you?”

Beelzebub’s eyes fluttered shut and they pursed their lips. 

“Frig off! Who?”

They took a very big breath, and prepared for what would come next. “Aaron Gabriel,” they said, opening their eyes.

Dagon froze. “Be serious,” she said, watching Beelzebub for some sign they were joking. “You’ve got to be shitting me.”

Beelzebub shrugged as best they could with a squalling baby in their arms. They bounced him, the way they’d seen people do to babies on television. Miraculously, he began to calm.

“Fuck off. Wow. How long?”

“About a month. It’s over now.”

Dagon shook her head. “I can’t believe that. How? Why?”

Beelzebub elucidated, outlining their relationship with Aaron, all the two steps forward and one step back exchanges, their daily lunches, the meals he made, the sleepovers (leaving out the more intimate details). The fights, the final confrontation.

“Then he drove away and he hasn’t spoken to me since.”

Dagon leaned back in her chair, considering this information. “Okay, putting aside the fact that I am still shocked that of all the people you could’ve dated you ended up with  _ Aaron Gabriel _ , it sounds like you liked him.”

Beelzebub swallowed. “I did,” they said, the dead weight in their stomach growing heavier. “I do.”

“It also sounds like that for someone who is a nightmare to deal with, he was mostly pretty good to you.”

“Yeah,” cringed Beelzebub. “We’ve been over that.”

“You know you’re an absolute pain, right?” said Dagon, leaning forward. “Like, legendarily difficult to be around.”

“Oh, thank you,” responded Beelzebub sarcastically, but with little bite. They suddenly felt exhausted.

“Don’t act like it’s not something you’re proud of. You’re hard work.”

That was true. Beelzebub could concede that. 

But Dagon wasn’t done. “And you’re my friend. So, what I’m going to say next I’m saying as a friend.”

Beelzebub wrinkled their nose. “You’re going to be mean, I can smell it.”

“That’s the baby” said Dagon. “He’s had a poo.”

Beelzebub looked down to Daniel, betrayed. “No.” 

“And you’re mean all the time. You can take it.” Dagon straightened her spine. “To be frank, I always thought you’d be on your own, romantically. You do not compromise, you’re a pain in the ass, you are obsessed with your job. And you don’t know how to have a conversation with someone without fighting with them.”

Beelzebub wanted to argue, but it would’ve just proved Dagon’s point.

“You are constantly on alert for something to run your mouth off about. I can’t imagine you are an easy person to be with. But it sounds like he wanted to try. And you liked him. You’re a lot, and maybe, because he is also a lot, it could’ve worked.”

Beelzebub looked down at the very smelly baby. He looked like he was judging them, which was extremely bold of someone who’d just shit himself.

Dagon sighed and her voice went softer. “I get that he doesn’t line up with your expectations of who you thought your person might be. Not that you ever told me what those were, but I can bet that you didn’t expect your person to come in the shape of a middle-aged Captain America. I sure as hell didn’t.”

Beelzebub let out a disappointed laugh. They would’ve liked to have thought of that.  _ Middle-aged Captain America _ . Would’ve liked to call Aaron that to his face. He would’ve thought it was funny.

“But if you want something to work you have to let that go.”

Because Dagon knew them, and was right when she said that Beelzebub could make anything an argument, their next words were a challenge. “Are you telling me to settle?”

Dagon shook her head, exasperated. “I’m obviously not. I’m telling you to get out of your own way.”

An obvious statement. It shouldn’t have felt like getting hit by a train, but it did.

“When you’re with him does it feel like settling?”

Beelzebub looked up, breath shallow in their lungs. It didn’t. It never had. It had been scary and strange and unsure but it had never, not for a second, been settling.

“How do I fix it?” they said, voice hoarse with emotion. They flushed at their own words.

“Well,” said Dagon, rising and finally retrieving the baby. “You say sorry for one thing.”

Beelzebub groaned and tipped their head back on the couch. Their arms hurt from bouncing Daniel.

“I know you hate that,” said Dagon, moseying out of the room with Daniel looking over her shoulder. “But I suggest you get good at it and quick.”

* * *

That evening as they stood in the shower, Beelzebub realized it had been seven days since they’d seen Aaron. Seven days since they’d spoken. He hadn’t called, or texted, or swung by their office. He’d fled town.

They pushed their hair back over their forehead and let the stream of water fall directly over their face. The weight that had been slowly building up in their chest over the week was dangerously close to suffocating. This is when normal people would cry, they thought.

They’d never been much of a crier, favouring yelling and throwing things around a bit when they were young, and now, eviscerating anyone who wronged them with a carefully worded e-mail, strategically copying the people who’d be most influenced. But who did they write to when there was no one to blame for their own state but themself? Who could they copy on the e-mail where they did an autopsy of their own piece of shit heart?

They pulled the shower curtain aside with the water still running, took a drag on the cigarette they’d left lit in an ashtray on the windowsill. It didn’t calm them like they hoped it would. 

Before he’d gone Beelzebub had been smoking less, first after they stopped taking an outside break at lunch, then after when he didn’t want them smoking in his cottage. Since Sunday they’d been back to a pack a day, telling themself that just one more would bring that relief they were chasing. They knew they were lying to themself, but it’s not like there was anyone stopping them.

No, they couldn’t remember the last time they cried, but they imagined a good, chest-heaving sob would serve them well, wring out all the muck that clogged their veins, making them sluggish and distracted.

Or, fuck, even anger. Go and stand in the backyard and yell at the night sky, curse Aaron for weaseling his way into their life in the first place. Curse Crowley for being in that damn grocery store and Dagon for having Beelzebub’s fucking number time and time again. Curse the world for making them the way it had which meant nothing got to be straightforward for them ever.

Most of all, curse themself for being such a bloody wreck of a person.

Anger would’ve been dandy. Instead, they got a deep and unrelenting sadness.

They stubbed out the cigarette, closed the shower curtain, and sat down on the cool tile floor, letting the water trickle down their back.

Beelzebub missed him. Wanted him. They wanted his lips on their skin. They’d kill for him to show up and give them a hard time for smoking in the shower. To hear him call them “baby.” 

They missed his warm hands.

They groaned, and the water started to go cold. They’d been in the shower too long. 

In their house robe, they dug their laptop out of their backpack and brought it to bed with them. In the beginning, or sort of the beginning, Aaron had said he wanted them to come to him. 

They weren’t good at this, but they had to try. They opened their laptop, and their e-mail.

> Aaron -
> 
> I don’t really know what the etiquette is on writing e-mails like this so I’m just going to get straight to the point. 
> 
> I’m sorry.
> 
> You might have picked up that I’m not great at this stuff. Being with people stuff. I’ve spent a long time forging forward on my own and I don’t think I’ve ever understood how to do that with someone else. I don’t know how to be with someone. I barely know how to be with myself sometimes.
> 
> I’m not embarrassed of you. I feel awful I even have to type that. We’re just so different and the version of me who was with you is not the person I’ve been up until now, and I’ve been struggling to come to terms with that. But it’s not bad, is the thing. It’s just new.
> 
> The version of me who was with you misses you. I think it’s the only version of me now. Just me.
> 
> I fucked up. I’m sorry. Please call me.
> 
> Bz


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: breif mention of deadnaming

The train was due in ten minutes. Beelzebub checked their watch again, tapped their foot nervously on the concrete platform. It was cool outside. Their hands were cold, fingers stiff. 

They didn’t want to go to the wedding. They didn’t want to take this train and then another and then drag their stupid suitcase to the hotel and go to the rehearsal dinner or cocktail hour or whatever the hell was scheduled for this evening. They’d spent an awful lot of time catastrophizing the wedding weekend over the past several weeks and their anxiety threatened to boil over. They shoved their hands in their pockets and paced. 

They looked at the display on the platform. The train was due in seven minutes.

When Damien had called on Wednesday asking Beelzebub to confirm they were actually coming, they’d failed to mention that they were now coming solo. It would’ve prompted a conversation that Beelzebub did not want to have.  _ Yeah, sorry, just me this time. Every time. I’m a hateful, jealous, unlovable wretch of a person just like everyone always said, so no date. _

Aaron hadn’t responded to their Sunday night e-mail, and now it was Friday. They’d been too embarrassed to go up to his office again. They’d almost been too embarrassed to go to their own. Setting foot on campus made some invisible hand close around their throat. They kept their head down for fear of seeing him. Mercifully classes were over at this point so no students were subject to their wrath, but they knew that their professors had been whispering about how Dr. Prince was somehow more mercurial than usual.

The train pulled into the station, slowed to a stop. 

_ You don’t have to get on this train,  _ they silently reminded themself.  _ You can skip this wedding and then maybe Damien and Lillith and Tommy and mum and dad will just give up trying to contact you altogether and take the guesswork out of this. _

A bold idea and one they’d never pursue. The guilt from staying home would be too exhausting. Plus, the idea of being cut off altogether was as scary as it was tempting. They didn’t really get along, but if their family didn’t love them, then fuck. Who would?

They took a breath that shook more than they hoped it would, then turned to pick up their suitcase only to find someone’s hand already on the handle.

A flash of anger came to them at record speed. “Oi, what the fuck do you-”

But then they followed the arm attached to that hand, and that arm was attached to Aaron. He stood tall in a dove grey overcoat, a white scarf a concession to the chill that hung in the air. His features were serious, a bit pinched, as if someone had said something distasteful and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to address it. 

Beelzebub’s hand floated in the air, reaching for the suitcase, reaching for him. They let it hover there, not quite able to pull it back to themself. “Aaron,” they said, and it was more of a whimper than they’d have liked. They hadn’t expected this. They hadn’t even dared to hope he’d appear again.

“Get in the car,” he said without a hint of a smile or a joke. 

His eyes were boring into them, and they felt a flush creep up their neck. Mutely, they pointed to their train behind them, currently boarding, hoping that the question was somehow conveyed.  _ Isn’t this what’s meant for me? _

Aaron glanced back at it, then, without warning, turned and began to walk out of the station, Beelzebub’s bag still in hand. “Come on,” he said over his shoulder, “if we don’t leave now we’ll be late, and that’s without traffic.”

His disappearing around the corner broke Beelzebub from their trance, and they jogged after him. They caught up at the boot of his car, as he placed their suitcase inside. 

“Aaron,” they said again, not quite able to make it past his name. What question did they start with?  _ Do you hate me? What do you want? Did you read my e-mail? _

He shut the boot, and turned his face to them, still maddeningly stern. “I said I would go to this wedding with you.” With that he made to climb in the driver’s seat.

Beelzebub hesitated, and closed their eyes. He’d come back. He was still obviously very angry, and it wasn’t fixed. They couldn’t just pretend nothing had happened and jump back in where the two of them had left off. But he was back which meant there was a chance.

They flexed their hands, and got into the car.

* * *

Aaron had often complained to Elizabeth about how much he hated getting roped into external reviews. So she’d been doing her job in rejecting a plea from Newcastle to step in for a reviewer who’d gotten ill when he’d interrupted. He very rudely had grabbed the phone from her hand, something that she did not like and he’d given her the afternoon off to compensate, and accepted the offer. He needed to get out of Tadfield, out of the building when he knew Beez was just a few flights of stairs away.

He’d thought that being invited to a family wedding meant something. At a minimum, he’d been under the impression that it meant they wouldn’t be shy about being seen with him. Sure, he’d never introduced Beelzebub to his friends but the truth was he didn’t have any in the village. His sister knew about them, and she was the only person he had even remotely emotionally revealing talks with. But he hadn’t told her about the fight, about the humiliation he’d felt as Beelzebub had so clearly demonstrated how embarrassed they were of him.

That night after he’d yelled at them in the car, he’d gone home and drank entirely too much whiskey. In a pique of dramatic ire, he’d thrown his empty glass at a cupboard, watching as it splintered into hundreds of pieces. It had felt satisfying for about two seconds, like some tension had been broken too, until he remembered he was in bare feet and now had to clean shattered glass up unless he wanted to track blood around. 

Drunkenly, he stumbled around in his boots trying to sweep up the minuscule pieces of glass, swearing at himself. He’d always been made of too much anger, dominated by short fuses.

In the morning, he woke up with a hideous hangover that lingered for days.

He’d still had the headache when he checked into his hotel in Newcastle, not far from the campus. It was an awful, dirty city, but in retrospect he could admit his impression could’ve been unduly influenced by his mood.

Yes, he hated conducting external reviews, but it was a respite from the war that waged in his own mind. Elizabeth had sent him her daily report and she noted that Professor Prince had stopped by briefly, and Aaron felt chilled. At night, after dinner with the review team, he retreated to his room and rustled around in his suitcase.

His heart skipped as he withdrew what he wanted. Beelzebub’s undershirt, which they’d left behind on one evening. He’d meant to wash it, bring it back to them, but he hadn’t. Returning it would have closed the door between the two of them too firmly. He’d packed it without examining his actions, packing it between two shirts. Bringing it to his nose, he inhaled what was left of Beez’s scent, some deeply human thing that made his chest hurt. 

With the black cotton shirt pressed to his mouth, he sat on the edge of the uncomfortable hotel mattress, and began to undo his fly. He did it without thinking, really. There wasn’t a decision making process. It was pure need. Unfiltered, unedited.

He missed them. He missed them so much he was choking on it.

With his hand around himself he pictured their dark hair on his white sheets, the deep green of their eyes looking up at him, the sounds that came out of their mouth when his fingers fucked them just the way they liked. He wanted Beez on their back, here. He wanted to make them come again and again and again while he hissed into their ear: “Are you embarrassed of me now?”

When he came over his fingers it was without relief, the image of Beelzebub in bed replaced by their last interaction, them getting out of the car with nary an explanation or apology. He looked down at his hand covered with come and he laughed bitterly. He felt pathetic. He could walk into any pub in this town, meet someone and bring them back here in thirty minutes or less. It wouldn’t be hard. He knew how to do that.

But instead he was just some middle-aged asshole, coming all over his own fist thinking about a person who blanched at the idea of being seen in public with him. He tossed Beez’s shirt aside. Groaned.

After a cold shower, he finally fell asleep, the undershirt tucked carefully back into his luggage.

For the next few days he stewed in it, the resentment and anger. It felt good. It was nice to be furious because he could forget how fucking sad he was. But the second he remembered, it was like he was consumed by it.

It had to get better, he told himself. He would stop wanting them eventually.

When his phone buzzed on Sunday evening he almost dropped it in his haste to open the e-mail that had popped up from Beelzebub, even as he told himself that it might just be a reply-all to a message on the department chair listserv. But it wasn’t. It was an apology.

They missed him.

He almost got in the car then, drove to Thistle’s End, let himself into their cottage which would almost certainly be unlocked. He was halfway to the door when he came to a halt.

“What are you doing?” he muttered to himself. 

He wanted them, but he wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t be Beelzebub’s slobbering dog, sitting at their feet when they beckoned to him. He was disciplined. He could exercise a little restraint.

Plus, the anger was too close on his heels. Any reunion now would be tainted by it.

It was a complicated dance to do on his own. Especially considering how much he loved them.

Aaron was still settling into that realization, that the intensity of this want and hunger was actually something more than lust. He was in love with them. There was a discomfort about this knowledge. It didn’t sit quite right. It was something he was entirely out of control of.

So out of control he’d almost told them, almost said it as he looked down on them, made a mess of them. And Beelzebub knew, the stunned fear that rose to their features before they could mask it told him that they knew. 

That was fine, though. They hadn’t even talked about what they were together. They’d had other serious talks, like when Beez had asked him over lunch when the last time he’d been tested was, and he answered honestly by saying he’d gone the week after they’d had dinner for the first time. Or like when they asked if he’d ever been married, wanted children, to which his answers were ‘almost but no,’ and ‘definitely no.’ When he turned the question back, they had answered emphatically ‘no, and no.’ Talking about kids was serious, at least he’d always thought.

But never “what am I to you?” No “what do I call you,” or “are you seeing anyone else?”

So if they’d be freaked out by  _ I love you _ , he could live with that.

The public rejection though, that nagged at him still. It was better with the apology, one he was sure they had dragged out of themself kicking and screaming, but he found it didn’t dissolve the anger.

He let himself live in it for a few more days. Just a couple. Just so he’d be sure that when he went to them again he wouldn’t be looking for a reason to fight.

And then it was Friday morning. On Thursday he had Elizabeth call Beelzebub’s EA Carmine to get Beelzebub’s travel arrangements for the following day. Aaron wasn’t sure if Carmine had given up the information easily or if Elizabeth was more skilled in interrogation techniques than he’d been aware of. It didn’t occur to him at the time, though it did later, that Elizabeth and Carmine might be working collaboratively to reduce the moping that both of their bosses were doing on their respective floors.

He waited at the train station. He hadn’t meant to leave connecting with them until the train was at the platform, but when he saw them for the first time in nearly two weeks his legs momentarily stopped working. That pilot light of anger in his belly that he thought he’d extinguished flared again, made him swallow hard. He felt like a creep, standing back and watching their unselfconscious, nervous pacing. He almost lost his nerve.

There they were. He loved them. They hadn’t wanted to be seen with him. And wasn’t that a kick in the teeth, even with the apology.

Only when the train arrived was he forced into action, taking long strides across the platform, grabbing their suitcase before they had a chance to themself.

He’d be thinking about that moment until he died. Their face turned up to him, all fear and relief and want and fear.

He loved them. He was in love with them.

* * *

The tension in the car was brittle and threatened to snap in two. Neither of them spoke. Aaron kept his eyes on the road, carefully passing other drivers on the rare moments he came upon them. In spite of their small size, Beelzebub’s presence in the car was massive. 

It was a curious thing, to ache for them and want to yell at them at the same time. To remind them several times over how shitty they’d been to him when he hadn’t, he’d thought, deserved it. Make them say sorry again and again until they were on their knees, their little face pressed into his thighs begging for his forgiveness. He was acutely aware that although he’d shown up and they were still going to the wedding, that he hadn’t actually accepted their apology. Their nervous energy and anxious hands suggested they were aware of this too.

Even through his anger he wanted to reach over, take both of their hands in one of his, and say _ I’m mad, but I love you _ . _ I’m mad because we seem to be really good at hurting one another, but I love you. _

Instead, forty minutes into the drive he cleared his throat and said, “What do I need to know about this wedding?”

“What?” Beez asked, their voice hoarse and diminished. 

He was weak against it, and his own voice softened in response. “Who’s who? What dark family secrets do I need to know so I can either avoid them or bring them up at inopportune moments depending?”

Beez laughed shallowly, sadly. They hummed for a moment, considering. “I think I’m the dark family secret.”

It was empty of the bite and humour he’d come to expect from a statement like that. The devil-may-care attitude present whenever they brought up their ability to make enemies and alienate people.

“Oh, Beelzebub,” he said, sighing, suddenly possessed by the deep need to wrap himself around them. His anger was one additional pang of sympathy away from draining from him entirely.

“And my dad’s a drunk. He’ll make a mess of himself. Guaranteed.”

He chanced a look over at them. Beez had crossed their arms tight against their chest and they stared at their knees. He wanted to unfurl their clenched fists and run his fingers down their spine. Just ahead there was a shoulder wide enough to pull off.

His slowing the car woke something up in Beelzebub. “What are you doing?” they asked, and it was like that first time they had gone out, before he had slid his hand around the back of their neck and held them there for the first time.

He put the car in park. Then, scrubbing a hand over his face he surrendered to this thing he felt for them, his inability to hold them at arm's length. “Come here,” he said, shifting his seat back to make room.

Beez said nothing, but their lips parted, and the question was in their eyes, looking up at him. 

Aaron reached over and undid their seatbelt for them and closed a hand around their upper arm. “Come here, baby.”

Beez climbed over the centre console and slid into his lap, a bit awkwardly at first, not quite knowing where to put their legs. He directed them with his hands on their hips and thighs until they were seated sideways, their back facing the driver’s side door, their feet draped onto the passenger side seat. 

With his arm wrapped around their back he could feel their shoulder blades rise and fall through the fabric of their jacket, the outline of their bones. They were so light in his lap. He took their chin in his hand and pressed his thumb into their lower lip. They were shaking, he could feel it.

“You’re okay,” he said, leaning forward and kissing the corner of their mouth. That contact turned his heart over, and he was on the verge of shaking too.

Beez turned their face and took his lips with desperation. They bit Aaron’s bottom lip and licked into his mouth. “I’m sorry,” they moaned into him, their hands digging into his hair.

“I know,” he muttered back, crushing them to him with strong arms. 

They kissed each other with more force than they had before, finding space for all the ache of missing one another, for all the touch they’d been without. Aaron had half a mind to strip their blazer off, unbutton their shirt, undo their fly and slip his finger into their hot cunt. But those thoughts stuttered to a stop when Beez stopped kissing him and pressed their face into the crook of his neck, and looped their arms tight around his shoulders.

He tried to find his breath as he ran his hand down their back, rubbed their thin thigh with the other. He waited.

After a few moments they’d stopped shaking in his arms, coming closer to stillness.

“I’m sorry,” they said again, into his neck.

“Look at me, would you?” he said, a bit short. If they were going to do this, they were going to do it the way he wanted.

Beez drew back, a curious mix of nerves and relief. They’d never been this open with him. He’d surrendered, and they’d surrendered too. It felt good, to have them in his hands.

He brushed their hair back off their face. They’d blow-dried it or something. It was softer than usual, not the normal coarse mess. He stroked their high cheekbone lightly, then slotted his hand under their chin holding it up. They didn’t fight him.

“Don’t do that to me again,” he said, less confident than he hoped, the hurt that he felt still obvious. “Please.”

“I won’t.”

“I want to be seen with you, alright?” He tilted their head up minutely, as if to make a point. “I want you to want to be seen with me.”

Their chin pressed down into his fingers. They meant to nod but he held them in place.

“I’m sorry,” they said, voice thin.

“Thank you,” he replied, and kissed them again, lightly this time, just brushing their lips. “It’s done. We won’t talk about it anymore.”

Beez hummed in confirmation.

“Good,” he said as a period to the conversation, to the fight. It was as resolved as it would ever be. He released their face, ran his hand down their front and settled it on their hip. “So, you wanna keep going?”

Beez inhaled deeply, some of their old self coming back even as they sat curled in his lap. “Not at all. Rather drive through the gates of hell, if I’m being honest. Might be more welcoming.”

He did them the favour of laughing quietly. “We don’t have to go. We could turn around. Or go somewhere else.”

“No, no,” they said, disentangling themself from his arms and moving back to their seat. “Let’s go. Don’t want to cause an _ incident _ .” They said it like they were intimately familiar with being the cause of family incidents.

He missed the slight weight of them across his legs and he reached out and took their hand in his, their fingers woven together. Had they done this before? Had they ever held hands? It felt shockingly new.

“I’ll be there with you. Let me help you, okay?”

They rolled their eyes, but didn’t let go of his hand. “You fucking sap,” they said, looking out the windshield. Their cheeks had gone pink.

He smiled, kissed the back of their small pale hand held in his. 

“That’s my baby,” he said quietly into their skin, then dropped their hand and started the car.

He took mental notes as he drove and they talked. Damien was getting married to Gemma, who was a genuine twat. Their sister Lillith had married Sam two years ago and had done the smart thing by eloping to Las Vegas, though Aaron was not to bring that up as Beez’s mother was still sour about it. Tommy was the youngest, and extremely obnoxious but in Beez’s words “mostly fine.” Their father would drink too much and say something off colour at some point and their mother would make a point of not addressing it.

“Are you the youngest?” Aaron asked, realizing it had never come up.

They laughed sharply. “No, oldest. Me, Damien, then Lillith, then Tommy’s the youngest. I’m eleven years older than him.”

Aaron imagined a family of small, pale, sullen dark-haired children with shrewd eyes. Creepy.

“There’s another thing,” Beez said, words tight.

“What’s that?” he asked, eyes flicking over to them for a moment.

“My family calls me Bee but I don’t want you to do that.”

Aaron considered this. “I call you Beez. Is that okay?”

“Yeah, that’s fine. You’ve got a…” they paused, let out a small huff of laughter, “a  _ zzz _ at the end.”

“A  _ zzz _ ?” he asked, imitating the buzz they’d made with clenched teeth.

They laughed and he wanted to pull over the car again, take that buzz from their mouth with his.

“Why don’t you like ‘Bee’?” he asked.

The laughter left Beez. “Too much like… another name. It’s their way of getting around, well, me. Getting around who I am.”

Aaron’s brow knit together. “Another name? What other name?”

When they didn’t answer immediately he realized with a sudden sinking stomach he had put a foot wrong. “Shit, you don’t have to… Beez, I’m sorry.”

“They called me Beatrice,” they said tightly. “Until I changed it. Sometimes they still ‘slip up.’ Twenty-five years and they still ‘slip up.’”

“Jesus Christ,” said Aaron, hands tight on the steering wheel.

“What?” asked Beelzebub, their face turned towards him in his peripheral vision.

“You couldn’t be less of a Beatrice if you tried.”

Beez hummed quietly, apparently satisfied with his verdict.

Edinburgh traffic was hideous, one way streets and tourists running every which way without checking the signals. Aaron let out a steady stream of curses under his breath much to Beelzebub’s amusement. Finally, they reached the hotel. 

He climbed out of the car, handed his keys to a valet, let a bellhop take the suitcases. 

“Fuck’s sake,” said Beez, straightening out their blazer where it had creased in the car. “Can’t you do anything yourself?”

“I like to let people do their jobs,” he said, handing the teenager with their suitcases a ten pound note. He’d tip better with Beez’s eyes on him. “I recommend it, by the way, letting people do their jobs.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Beez with narrowed eyes.

“It means,” said Aaron, draping an arm over their shoulders and guiding them into the lobby, “that you should let me take care of you this weekend. That’s my job here. The only one. Getting you through it.”

“Take care of me. Fuck you,” they said fondly, gently smacking his stomach with the back of their hand as they approached the revolving doors.

He loved them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How's everyone doing in quarantine? Time is strange and things are weird but I'm glad you're here.
> 
> I got a Twitter to talk fandom stuff and eventually post the erotica I fully intend to write. Follow me [here.](https://twitter.com/_seekwill)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: misgendering, quickly corrected

Aaron watched Beez check in, watched as they very firmly told the hotel reception clerk that there should only be one room on the reservation, not two, and there must be some mistake. They grumbled about their family, the presumption that Beez would even need two rooms. He loved watching them like this. Cool and collected and haughty, scaring the hell out of every person who dared to underestimate them even though they could barely see over the raised reception desk. He found the whole thing absurdly sexy.

Waiting for the clerk to program the keys, Beez’s dark eyes flicked up to him, and all the trepidation and nerves that had been present at the start of the day were gone. Their mouth was in a tight, thin line. Aaron was getting better at reading them in moments like these, and he knew they were happy, pleased beyond belief. They would never do anything as debasing as smile. No, that would be too common for them, too obvious. But he saw their pleasure in the roll of their shoulders as they looked over the desk, the quirk of an eyebrow, the lazy way they shifted their small hips from side to side, and the bored sigh. All ease and happiness, or something pretty close to it.

He said nothing, choosing instead to look down at them, not wanting to miss a single casual glance up. He was staring. They’d give him shit for it later and he’d love every second of it.

Neither of them spoke in the elevator. He let Beez lead them to the room where their bags were waiting for them. All the while he hovered right behind, leaving only a few inches of taut, heated space. As they slipped the card key through the lock, he pressed his hand to the door over their head, and pushed it open.

The following few seconds were like a ballet, for all the grace that they contained. The door opened; they both leaned inside the room as one. Beez turned on their heel and hooked small fingers into the pocket of Aaron’s trousers, pulled him to them. The door slipped shut, the lock clicked into place and their other hand came up to the back of his neck. He bent to them, growling low in the back of his throat as their lips met. He crowded them until their back met the wall. There was nothing cautious or tentative about it. Just hot, slick, open. Beez’s tongue was in his mouth and they were making sharp little moans that sliced through him, could’ve brought him to his knees.

There was an electric moment where he pictured Beez on their knees instead, perched between his spread legs as he sat, opening their mouth to him. In his mind’s eye he saw their lips stretching obscenely around his cock and he briefly whited out at the possibility of it.

Aaron took Beez’s hand on his hip and shifted it to where he was hard in his trousers, held their small palm to the heat of him, covered their hand completely with his own.

“Feel that, baby?” he whispered as he eagerly kissed the corner of their mouth, their high cheek bone, their ear. “That’s what you do to me.”

They gasped, a shallow quiet thing and he stopped just to take it in. He dropped his forehead into the curve where their neck met their shoulder as they leaned against the wall, breathed them in. Both were breathing deeply, chests heaving. He could have said it then, wanted to say it then -  _ I love you, baby _ \- but he suspected it would have more of an impact at a juncture when their hand wasn’t on his cock.

“Just let me… I have to…” Then they were pulling away, with the last point of contact their fingertips dragging against his trousers. The sensation made him bite his lower lip and moan.

“What’s so time sensitive that you have to…” 

They’d pulled a suit out of their bag, put it on a hanger, made a futile attempt to shake the wrinkles out.

Aaron unfurled to full height, finding his breath. His eyebrows stitched together. The suit was… “Blue?”

Beez kept their back to him, ran a distracted hand through their hair. “Yeah.”

It wasn’t a navy, or some sort of dark grey-blue that would invoke a military vibe that he could have easily pictured them in, but a bright, primary blue. He stood behind them, and reached out and took the fabric between his fingers, grimaced as he recognized polyester. “This is cheap,” he muttered. “The tags are still on it. Is this for tomorrow?” 

Even the cut was wrong. Wider lapels that would overwhelm them, the trousers had too high a rise. Under his arm Beez shrugged in a show of false dismissiveness. All thoughts of continuing their earlier activities faded away.

“Beez,” he said, firmly but as gently as he could manage. “This is going to be too big on you.”

They slipped out from between him and the suit and began to take other things out of their bag. They went into the bathroom holding a ziploc bag with a toothbrush and toothpaste, probably the only toiletries they owned. “Bought it online,” they called from out of sight. “Didn’t have time to get it tailored.”

He placed his hands on his hips and went back to studying the confusing suit. “Since when do you wear blue?”

From the bathroom he heard the telltale sign of knocking. Their nervous tic, knock on any nearby hard surface. “Told me not to wear black,” they said, voice devoid of any emotion.

Immediately and involuntarily, he clenched his jaw. He walked to the bathroom doorway, braced his hands on either side of the frame. “What?”

They looked at him through the mirror, their back still to him. “Damien and Gemma told me not to wear black to the wedding. Pictures, or something.” They screwed up their mouth to the side.

Who was this person? Diminished and devoid of any anger. Had Beez used it all up? Or was this what mere proximity to their family did to them? His hands grew tight on the frame. 

“Since when do you listen to horseshit directives like that?” he asked, trying to maintain some levity in his voice. His flying off the handle wouldn’t help Beez now.

Their small shoulders rose in another shrug, and they took their toothbrush and toothpaste out of the bag and set them beside the sink.

“When the Vice Dean tried to implement centralized TA training you sent a reply-all email where you threatened to burn the library down, yet…” Aaron kept his gaze on the mirror, willed them to look up at him. “... when your brother says not to wear black - which is idiotic - your response is to buy a blue suit?”

Their face developed a pinched quality, and they turned to lean on the bathroom counter, crossing their arms. “Just, drop it. Alright?’ 

Their tone was sharp and final, but they looked like some of the life had been bled from them, some vital thing that they were built of had been extracted from their core. He hated that. Just fifteen minutes ago they had been cocksure and relaxed and now they looked like they hadn’t slept in a week. 

“Yeah, fine,” he said. “I’ll drop it. For now. Because you asked so nicely.”

They rolled their eyes and left the bathroom by ducking under one of his arms, moving his body to the side. They went to look in their bag for something, or they were stalling, or getting space from him. Something. Aaron looked at the suit in the wardrobe, cringed at it. If he had his way he’d throw that thing in the trash, sling Beez over his shoulder and start driving back to Tadfield. Instead he took off his overcoat, and hung it beside the suit.

“Oh, fuck,” they muttered from behind him.

He turned on his heel, and they were bent over their phone, staring at the screen.

“What?” he asked, moving towards them to see what they were looking at.

“They’re already downstairs.” Beez’s voice was as mournful as he’d ever heard it. Then their phone pinged with another notification and they scoffed with a familiar exasperation. “In the bar. Who’s fucking idea was that? Tommy’s I bet. Selfish little prick.”

They slipped their phone back in their pocket and turned to face him. After a brief moment of hesitation, and a laboured sigh, they spoke to him directly. “We should go down.”

A protective wave rushed through him, swept him of every other intention. He stepped forward to close the space between them, drew his fingers through their hair. “We don’t have to,” he said firmly.

They closed their eyes, leaned into his touch. “It’ll be worse if we wait.”

Then they were pulling away again, back to the bag.

His hand closed around their upper arm. “Hold on, hold on.”

He took the moment to kiss them, holding them in place with one hand, tilting their chin up to him with the other. Soft, like he was coaxing something out of them.  _ I love you.  _

Beez withdrew from the kiss, cheeks just slightly flush. He ran his thumb over one high cheekbone, felt like he was choking.

They plunged their hand into their bag and took out what appeared to be a red silk scarf. He didn’t think he’d ever seen it before. Beez stared at it in their hands for a moment, then turned to the full length mirror attached to the wall, tentatively wound it around their neck, an unreadable expression on their face.

“I haven’t seen you wear that before,” he said neutrally, taking in the shock of colour. Blue, then red. Was pink next? It would’ve been one thing if they looked happy about it, but they didn’t.

They fussed with it, tying and untying, trying a different knot. “Wear it to conferences sometimes. If I’m presenting. So people can see me. Does it work with this?” They gestured to their black suit, the white shell under their blazer. Now they looked nervous.

“You're asking me because you want to honestly know, right?” Even in this state Aaron couldn’t imagine Beez as someone fishing for false platitudes, begging some man to make them feel better.

They groaned, started to tug at the knot. “Ah, fuck.”

He’d try for levity, nothing else seemed to be landing. “If the look you’re going for is flight attendant, or junior member of the communist league I’d say you’re set.”

Beez released something between a laugh and a growl and tore the scarf off.

“Wait,” he said, laughing. “Flight attendants are hot.”

“You’re gross,” they replied, rolling their eyes. “We have to go.”

They dragged him towards the door, their small hand wrapped around his wrist. Their fingers couldn’t wrap all the way around it. As they reached for the door handle he put his free hand up against the door to hold it closed.

“What now?” they spat.

“I see you,” he said, looking down at them. “Even without the scarf.”

For a fraction of a second it was like he had slapped them, had done something so shocking and painful they couldn’t believe it. Before he could apologize, for what, he wasn’t sure, they had trained their features back into something more familiar. Scorn and disdain.

“Don’t be weird,” they bit, and he let them open the door.

But then their hand folded into his palm and they held it, even after they were outside the room, on the walk to the elevator, on the ride down.

He’d found a bird outside his house once, as a kid. It had flown into the window with a violent thunk, and had fallen down onto the grass, its little legs pointed up towards the sky, wing out at an awkward, incorrect angle. He’d picked it up against his mother’s admonishments to _ put that filthy thing down _ . It wasn’t alive anymore. He and his sister buried it in the backyard, up against the fence where the shed was.

He’d forgotten that until just now, until Beelzebub’s delicate hand was curled against his and he felt the slightest wrong pressure could crush it. Until just now when their fingertips burned brands onto his skin. All he could do was breathlessly cradle it as the memory rushed back.

Protect them, in the face of everything else. Protect them. 

The door of the elevator opened onto the lobby and they dropped his hand without ceremony. They crossed their arms tight against their chest. They didn’t move, just stared out in front of them.

He stepped out to hold the door from closing, then turned back to them. “Once more into the breach.”

Without looking at him, they nodded, then were out like a shot, leaving him to catch up.

The bar was stylishly appointed. Trendy light fixtures and dark wood furniture. Behind the bar were lines and lines of shining bottles of liquor, real top shelf selection. He could see Beez studiously avoiding looking at it, coming up on their toes and craning their neck trying to see around the patrons, until -

“Beelzebub!” A woman’s voice cut through the space, throaty and authoritative.

At the end of a bar was a group of three. A pale, light haired woman, tall-ish and blue eyed with her hand raised in a tentative, awkward greeting. To her side, a man with medium brown skin and a wide-smile. Then another man with his back to them.

“Lillith,” Beez muttered for Aaron’s benefit, and made their way towards the trio. 

As they came closer, the man who had been facing away from Aaron turned around. His dark eyes, widened in surprise when they landed on Aaron. He was young. Couldn’t be thirty. Tommy.

“Oh my god. Okay, alright.” Tommy’s hand gestured vaguely in the region of Aaron’s chest as he and Beez arrived on scene. He looked back and forth between the couple, looking delighted. Like it was the funniest thing he’d seen in his whole blessed life. Then he extended his hand to Aaron. “Sure, okay. I’m Tommy.”

Aaron took his hand and had barely opened his mouth when Beelzebub cut in, sarcastic. “Nice to see you too, Tommy.”

Tommy dropped Aaron’s hand and slung an arm around Beelzebub’s shoulder, casually, warmly. In his other hand he waved around a clear drink. “I’m sorry, I was distracted by the situation you just walked in with. Hello, dear Bee.”

Beelzebub stiffened at the nickname. “Hi.”

The brown man leaned forward, kissed Beelzebub on the cheek. “Alright?”

“Alright, Sam,” they said neutrally.

Sam introduced himself to Aaron, as did Lilith, though she was cooler, appraising him seriously, not a hint of smile on her face. She never offered her hand.

Aaron looked from Beelzebub, to Lillith, to Tommy. At first glance he’d never have seen the resemblance. Three disparate planets, in three distant solar systems. But then, slowly, it came to him. Beez and Tommy had the same eyes. Beez and Lillith, the same high, round cheekbones. All three of them, made from the same starstuff.

The conversation that had been in progress before Aaron and Beez had arrived picked up again, excluding them almost entirely until Tommy turned to Aaron and asked, “So, how was the drive?”

The flirtation in his tone was incredibly bold, not least of all because he delivered his question directly over the head of his sibling who Tommy seemed to have briefly forgotten the existence of. 

Aaron opened his mouth to answer but Beelzebub did it for him.

“Fine,” they said sharply. “Aaron is a competent driver.”

Aaron cracked a smile. High praise from Beez.

Beez backed up from where they were standing, just an inch, just so they were slightly more in his personal space from the distance they’d been maintaining. He longed to touch them, and he suspected they were itching for it too, but to do that in front of their family would be too much for them right now. Beez’s armour was up. It wouldn’t do to expose their vulnerabilities. 

All the same, confident his hand was out of sight of the others, he brought it discreetly to the small of Beez’s back, letting it linger for a moment before dropping it again. A quiet reminder that he was there, in whatever way they wanted him to be.

So far he found their assessments of their own family accurate, if a bit overdramatic. Beez hadn’t said anything about Lillith’s husband, Sam, in the car, and Aaron suspected it was because he was a generally friendly and unobtrusive man, and hadn’t given Beelzebub much material to work with. But he could see where their anxiety had come from. Even the casual observer could see that in this trio, at least, Beez was on the outside. 

“Oh, Bee! You’re here!” 

A woman’s voice, received pronunciation and sharp as glass, cut through the space. A man and a woman approached together. Immediately, Aaron could see it, the way Beez and Lillith and Tommy were drawn from them. Dark and light, tall and short, though not near as short as Beez. A study in contrasts.

Beez’s mother bent to kiss their cheek. Their father waved at the bartender, causing Sam and Lillith to exchange an uncomfortable glance.

Introductions were made. Beez’s parents seemed to have permanent expressions of surprise as they took Aaron in.

“Well,” said Cressida, Beez’s mother, eyes tracing Aaron’s form in a way he wasn’t unfamiliar with, but not comfortable with either. “You’re not what we expected.”

“Hm,” he intoned, and smiled tightly. In another other circumstance, standing beside any other person, he may have asked a playful follow-up -  _ How so? Who did you expect? _ \- but not now, and certainly not with Beelzebub. He knew what Cressida and the rest of them were getting at, and the more they insisted upon it, the more the well of anger deep in the pit of him threatened to overflow.

_ What is he doing with them? _

He hadn’t always been the most perceptive person. He knew that. More than one ex had called him self-centred, and he was. For most of his life he’d been his own highest priority. He just hadn’t paid attention to other people all that much if it hadn’t served him directly. But even to him, a newcomer, without the history and the stories and the years of witnessing it, it seemed clear to him how little they all thought of Beez, how little they knew them.

“And how did you meet our Bee?” asked Ethan, Beez’s father, receiving a glass of Scotch from the bartender with a grateful smile. Lillith cringed. Aaron couldn’t see Beelzebub’s face.

That their family would claim Beez as their own, all while refusing to use their real name made fury crawl up his throat and nip at the back of his teeth. He couldn’t respond for a second, his possessive anger choking him.

“We’re colleagues,” supplied Beelzebub, and left it without further explanation. “Where’s Damien?”

Their question interrupted his rage spiral. That false casual tone, he’d heard it before. Trying to make it sound like a throw-away question when it was something they were desperate to know. Even though it was Damien’s wedding they were here for, Aaron had forgotten about the fourth Prince child until this moment.

“Around,” said Lillith. “Wedding nonsense.”

“Gemma nonsense, more like,” said Tommy, delighting in his own snark.

There was a conspiratorial smile shared between the siblings and Sam.

_ Oh,  _ thought Aaron, _ they all hate the fiance. _ At least there was something for them to bond over.

“Be nice,” admonished Cressida, staring down Tommy. “She’s a good girl.”

Tommy took a sip of his drink and rolled his eyes. Another family trait.

“Hi, hi. I’m sorry. I’m here.”

They all turned to the voice coming from the entrance of the bar. A man jogging towards them. He looked like Beez, if Beez were a man who was extremely invested in his local rugby club. Aggressively broad shouldered and tall, just a few inches shorter than Aaron.

“The groom,” cried Cressida, pleased as anything.

Damien approached their group looking harried, a bit run down. His eyes landed on Beez. “You came.”

“Yeah,” they muttered. “Said I’d come, didn’t I?”

“You did, I just… just glad you came, is all.” He hugged Beez lightly, awkwardly. “I know this isn’t your thing but it wouldn’t have felt right without, eh…”

“His twin!” said Tommy emphatically, sarcastically, finishing Damien’s sentence.

“Twin?” Aaron couldn’t mask his surprise. He looked down at Beez, smiled. “I thought you said you were the oldest.”

“I am!” they cried, as if wounded.

“By about fifteen minutes,” said Damien, laughing. “You must be Aaron then.”

Aaron took his offered hand, keeping his gaze cool at the man who dared tell Beez what to wear.

“Bee and Damien look so different because Damien ate too much in the womb and left poor Beezy permanently malnourished,” contributed Tommy.

“Fuck off,” said Beez immediately.

Lillith screwed up her nose. “They look different because they’re fraternal,” she said firmly.

Tommy rolled his eyes again, grumbling. “I know! It’s called a joke, you humourless ghouls. Holy fuck.”

There was a brief strained silence, broken by Cressida. “That’s not true in the slightest. Bee takes after her grandparents on -”

“Their grandparents.”

Everyone turned to look at Aaron, except for Beez, who looked at the ground.

“Excuse me?” said Cressida, uncomfortable.

Without being able to see their face, Aaron couldn’t gauge their response, couldn’t sort out if he had overstepped here, embarrassed them. In absence of the confirmation that this was okay, he trudged forward.

He kept his tone casual. “You were saying that Beelzebub takes after their grandparents.” No emphasis on any strategic word, no anger twisting its way through his voice. No telling Beez’s mother to hurry up and die already. He admired his own restraint.

“Ah,” said Cressida, rolling her shoulders, trying to gain back her footing. “Yes, Bee takes after  _ their _ grandparents. On my side. Small.”

Small sounded like an insult coming out of Cressida’s ugly mouth. The urge to grab Beez’s hand and haul them out of there was overwhelming. He hated these people. Even Sam, who was probably mostly decent.

Then, as the conversation continued, something scratched at his thigh. He looked down and one of Beez’s slim fingers, the pinky, brushed his leg. It was so light a touch he could have dismissed it as a figment of his imagination. But he could see it, and it anchored him. He looked up, and let his hand come up to rest on their back again, not taking it away this time.

After a short, unenlightening chat, Damien disappeared again and they all agreed to meet in an hour's time at the restaurant where the rehearsal party was being held.

In the elevator up to the room, he looked down to them. They looked exhausted.

“I didn’t know you were a twin,” Aaron said.

Beez sniffed. “Not much to tell. People always think it’s more interesting than it is.”

He smiled. There was a story there, probably a few stories, but he’d wait for them. 

Beez entered the hotel room first and fairly melted, collapsing onto the bed on their belly. Aaron shed his suit jacket and laid it delicately over the back of an armchair, then he climbed onto the bed, hovering over them on hands and knees.

“What are you doing?” they asked, their voice spent, muffled from pressing their face into the duvet.

“Yoga, tabletop pose,” he deadpanned, bringing his face down to kiss the side of their neck. 

“Would you like to have a nap?” he asked into their ear, then kissed the shell of it. 

The back of their small hand came up to press his face back. 

“Tickles,” they muttered, and he chuckled, not taking it personally. “You’re being too… schmoopy.”

“Schmoopy,” he repeated, not changing position, not moving an inch. “What does that mean?”

“Being too nice. It’s weird. Be mean.”

“Oh, yeah? You want to fight about something? It’s been a few hours, we’re behind.” He kissed their neck again.

“No,” they grumbled. “Wanna nap.”

He smiled into the heat of their skin a moment, then rolled over on his side beside them. Beez shifted closer to him, then turned their face to his, a shallow crease from the duvet pressed into their cheek. He brushed their hair back from their face, ran his hand down their spine. 

_ I love you. _

* * *

Aaron had always been under the impression that rehearsal dinners were for the immediate families of the engaged couple and the wedding party. Not, as it appeared to be in the restaurant down the way from the hotel, half the fucking people at the wedding. It also had a cocktail party set up with servers circulating. No dinner was actually served.

It was a mess of introductions, so many names he couldn’t have remembered them even if he wanted to, and he didn’t want to. Beez stood pin straight, radiating nervous energy. They tersely greeted relatives and family friends who looked about as happy to be interacting with Beez as they did with them. Why was Beez subjecting themself to this?

Aaron didn’t really have family. His parents had both passed away, his one sister on the other side of the planet. There was no one he felt obligated to show up for, except now, the person who stood vibrating next to him, compulsively checking their watch.

“When’s your speech?” he asked. In the car they had complained about the speech that the siblings had been asked to give.

“Soon,” said Beez. 

Then their gaze caught on something, someone, across the room, and they raised their hand in greeting. A compact woman with braids and strong looking arms in a group on the other side of some tables waved back.

“Who’s that?” 

“Brigitte. Used to work with Damien. Maybe still does. We used to date.”

Aaron’s head snapped to the side. “What?”

“Years ago now. Fifteen maybe?” Beez looked up to him, taking in his expression. A smile bloomed on their lips. “Are you jealous?”

“Yes,” he said, smiling back. He was jealous, not violently, not even in a way that made him angry. Just in a way that made him want to stake a possessive and visible claim on Beez. Pull them close to him and cup their chin with his hand, kiss them here in front of everyone, long and slow until people had to look away. 

“I should go say hello, catch up. You know, old times’ sake.” They started walking away, eyes still glued to him. Teasing.

He tilted his head, watched them go. Seeing them talk to Brigitte, who was good looking in an angular sort of way, screwed up his stomach a bit. But it was delicious. He’d never really been jealous before, he’d never wanted like he wanted now. He’d never loved someone like this.

He brought his glass to his lips, meant to take a sip of sparkling water as he watched Beez and Brigitte talk, and found it empty. Reluctantly, he pulled his gaze away from them, immediately missing the way Beez’s eyes frequently looked over at him, entirely aware of their effect on him. It was the happiest he’d seen them look all day.

Aaron leaned over the bar, raised his empty glass at the bartender. When she acknowledged him, he turned back to the room, looking for Beez again.

“Hey.”

Aaron glanced at the man beside him, who was accepting a beer from the bartender. Had they been introduced? He looked vaguely familiar but half the men in the room looked vaguely familiar. White with close cropped haircuts and gingham shirts.

Aaron nodded, and returned his attention to Beez.

“She hired you right?”

Aaron was grateful he wasn’t holding a glass at that moment, because he would’ve dropped it. That, or crushed it directly into five-dollar-haircut-gingham-shirt’s face. “Excuse me?” His voice was low, restrained.

“Like, Bee’s paying you for this.” His tone was jovial, like this was all a real joke. Like Aaron was in on it.

Aaron could feel his nostrils flare as he looked into his smarmy face. The man’s expression faltered. “What’s your name?”

“Uh?” It was slowly dawning on the man that he had made a mistake.

“Tell me your name, pal,” Aaron said darkly.

“James,” and then, “I’m her cousin.” Like that would save him.

“Alright Jimmy, here’s what you can tell anyone who asks.” Aaron accepted his water from the bartender, smiling beautifically at her, before letting the expression drop as he returned to his ‘conversation.’ 

“ _ They _ did not hire me. I’m not an escort. I’m Dr. Aaron fucking Gabriel. Look me up. I’m chair of the best English department in this country and I wouldn’t go to a half baked wedding like this with a bunch of mouth breathing inbreds if I didn’t love the person who asked me to go.”

James nodded, made a move like he was going to leave. Aaron grabbed his bicep. “Just wait a second there, Jimmy. Not done talking. That person - whose name doesn’t belong in your slimy fucking mouth by the way - is an intellectual giant. You should be thanking your lucky stars that they even let you be in the same room with them.”

He took a long drink of his water, tightened his grip on James’s arm. James flinched. It had to hurt. Aaron hoped it hurt. 

For his last request, Aaron brought his voice down. Not a whisper, he didn’t care if anyone heard at this point. But he wanted this to be suitably menacing. “Next time you think it’s a good idea to talk about Professor Beelzebub Prince, here’s a little suggestion for what to do instead: do us all a favour, and climb to the top of Arthur’s seat and throw yourself off.”

Aaron finished his water, savoured the absolute terror on James’s face. As he placed the glass lightly back on the bar, he released James’s arm, then slapped it in a way that could have been mistaken by the casual observer to be an act of masculine comradery. 

“Glad we had this talk,” Aaron said, and he brushed past James and crossed the room to where Beelzebub stood. He wanted to touch them, stake his claim on the only person in this room worth a damn. To arrive next to them was a balm. He put one hand on Beez’s back and exhaled, coming back to himself. He extended the other to Brigitte.

“Hi, Aaron Gabriel,” he said as she accepted his introduction.

“So I’ve heard,” Brigitte replied.

Almost immediately, a voice broke through the din. Another generic faced white boy with a piece-of-shit haircut stood at the mic in the corner of the room. “Hi everyone. Hello. I’m Bradley, I’m the best man, and I’m going to be your host this evening. Welcome to the rehearsal dinner for Damien and Gemma! 

“We’re going to have a few speeches tonight. Starting with Damien’s siblings: Thomas, Lillith, and uh…” he paused, looking at the piece of paper in front of him, then gamely making an attempt. “Bee… Beelzebub? Beelzebub. Sorry, I  _ do _ know that. Swear. Tommy, Lil and Bee!”

“Good luck,” said Brigitte.

Aaron grabbed Beelzebub’s hand and squeezed it, but said nothing. He watched them go up to the front.

His eyes stayed glued to the centre of their slim back, moving through the crowd. Brigitte was talking to him but it sounded like white noise. He hated their family. Damien, who had the fucking audacity to tell them what to put on their body. Cressida, who made Beez sound like a mistake, an aberration. Tommy, who looked over them, through them. James and every fucking other person in this room who thought that Beez was less than, when not a single fucking one was worth the dirt stuck to the soles of their boots.

They were torturing themself to be here, and he was sick of it. They would do this speech they didn’t want to do, then he was getting them out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I [drew them](https://twitter.com/_seekwill/status/1244126615820537857?s=20) because I'm obsessed.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks as always to the brilliant and irreplaceable summerofspock, who betas the hell out of this thing and makes it worth reading.

Lillith pressed an index card with careful handwriting on it into Beelzebub’s hand.

“Just read this,” their sister muttered as the three of them, Beelzebub, Lillith, and Tommy gathered to the side of the microphone to give what would almost certainly be an unmemorable start to the evening’s festivities.

Beelzebub looked down. Lillith had preemptively written a speech for all three of them. “Did you think I couldn’t write anything myself?” Beelzebub grumbled. They’d think Lillith was the oldest, for how controlling she was. “I speak in public all the bloody time.”

“Yes, I’m sure everyone here wants to hear about how the common house fly is responding to climate change.” Lillith leveled Beelzebub with a glare before schooling her expression to something more friendly and stepping up to the mic.

On the one hand, Beelzebub had had just about enough of being spoken down to. On the other, they were mildly impressed Lillith was up to date on their current research. They glanced down to the speech she had handed them. It was rubbish, even for Lillith.

Tommy leaned into them, his elbow on their shoulder. He was holding another index card, as well as a drink. Vodka tonic, Beelzebub guessed. “Have you been drinking all day?” they asked.

“Listen,” he said quietly, syllables coming together, gently slurred, as Lillith began speaking into the microphone. “We all have our ways of coping when the clan gets together. I drink until I can’t feel my toes, you bring retired Calvin Klein models to defend your honour.”

Beelzebub smirked. Tommy was a genuine ass but he could be very funny. Really, if they reflected on it, the truth was that each of their siblings individually, on their own away from everyone else, were decent people. Not good, really, but not bad. But there was something toxic that happened when they all got together with their parents. Something like ammonia and bleach. Suffocating and horrible, it made them poison to one another.

“This is a very bad speech,” Tommy said seriously, taking another drink.

Beelzebub nodded. It was boring.

“Know who made a really good speech earlier?”

Beelzebub looked up at him, puzzled. What was he on about?

Tommy looked down at them, a sly smile on his lips. “Your boyfriend absolutely lost his shit on James at the bar just now. It was terrifying, and very sexy.”

Beelzebub looked towards Aaron, who was typing something into his phone, ignoring Lillith’s speech. 

“Absolutely ripped into him, the little shit. It was delicious.”

“What did he say?” asked Beelzebub, eyes not leaving Aaron’s face, his chiseled features. His violet eyes slipped to theirs in that moment. The corner of his mouth quirked up, and he winked.

“Something about how James is a wanker and how you’re perfect and he loves you and how everyone here should worship the ground you walk on. Oh! And then he suggested James kill himself. Brilliant, actually.”

_ And he loves you.  _ An electric charge ran through their veins.  _ And he loves you. _

“I cannot even pretend to start to understand what you two have going on, but if you ever get bored of him, please know your littlest brother will gratefully take your sloppy seconds.”

Beelzebub finally tore their gaze from Aaron, returning it to Tommy. “You’re disgusting.”

“And you’re a hateful little elf. My turn.” He walked up to the mic as Lillith stepped back to a smattering of polite applause.

Lillith came to stand next to Beelzebub. Beelzebub granted her a tight, uncomfortable smile. 

“Tommy’s actually reading off the card I gave him. Will wonders never cease?” Lillith sounded exhausted. 

“He’s too drunk to think of something on his own,” said Beelzebub.

Tommy’s speech, like Lillith’s, was all platitudes and generalities. It somehow sounded like none of the siblings had ever actually met, let alone grown up together.

“Not really memorable, is it?” said Beelzebub, looking at their sister out of the side of their eye.

“That’s very restrained of you,” sniffed Lillith. “It’s designed to be boring. The best thing that could happen is that everyone forgets we spoke immediately after we’ve finished. The most memorable wedding speeches are because someone accidentally reveals something they shouldn’t, or they go on far too long. Short, sweet, to the point. That’s all Damien wanted.”

“Damien told you what he wanted, did he?” Beelzebub wasn’t entirely sure why they felt so possessive over their twin when the two of them hardly spoke anymore, but they didn’t have the energy to interrogate it at the moment.

“It was all in the group chat, which I know you are part of and that you don’t read, so don’t complain about it.”

Beelzebub decided to concede that particular battle, and returned their attention to Aaron. Was Tommy exaggerating when he said  _ he loves you _ ? It wouldn’t be the first time. It seemed implausible. Sure, Aaron was good to them. Often exceedingly good to them. He kept showing up when a lesser person would’ve given up on Beelzebub long ago. Not twelve hours ago he’d set aside what Beelzebub knew had to be a deeply wounded pride to come with them to this wedding. He cared for them, sure. But, love? Beelzebub was not a creature who was loved. Not like that. Not by someone like that.

But at the least, he did really like them.

“You’re up, Bee.”

Beelzebub turned to their sister as Tommy stepped back from the microphone. “I hate that.”

Lillith’s eyes widened. “What?”

“Bee. I hate it. Don’t call me that.”

“Uh, oh. Alright. I…” Lillith sputtered.

“Beelzebub. Or Beez. Not Bee.” Beelzebub pressed the index cards they had crumpled nervously back into Lillith’s hands. “And I’m not using these.”

They swept past their brother and walked up to the microphone. It took a few awkward moments to get the mic out of the stand, which was of course much too tall for them. But they managed. Like they always managed.

“Hi,” they started. They lifted their head and looked to the back of the room. They had been a teacher for years, a chair for nearly as many. They headlined conferences and facilitated meetings. They were capable, and brilliant, and the smartest person in this room. And they could fucking talk. Fuck Lillith’s index cards. “I’m Dr. Beelzebub Prince and I have the dubious honour of knowing Damien longer than literally anyone else.”

Fuck being unmemorable.

“And in spite of appearances, Damien is my  _ little _ brother. I have about twenty minutes on him, and he has about 30 centimetres and six stone on me. Always trying to one-up each other.”

A laugh, a genuine laugh.

“But I am older.” They turned to Damien, and there was a hopeful smile on his lips. “And I have twenty minutes worth of additional wisdom to offer, if you’ll take it.”

“I’ll take it,” he called, and the audience chortled. Gemma was at his side, but Beelzebub didn’t see her. 

Beelzebub took a breath. “People will tell you that blood is thicker than water. It’s funny because it’s untrue. I mean, the four of us, you couldn’t find four more different people. None of us would’ve chosen one another.”

More laughter, though slightly more uncomfortable. Beelzebub didn’t dare look at Tommy and Lillith.

“I used to think, many years ago, that I knew you more than anyone else could ever know you. But then we grew up, and I was wrong. We grow up and we become our own people and the things we thought we knew about one another turn out not to be true, even if they were at some point. We grow up and we reach the limits of what our blood can know about us. We move away and our blood doesn’t define us anymore.”

Beelzebub could see the trepidation forming in Damien’s eyes, but they didn’t stop.

“And then we meet someone who gets to know us as we are. If they are lucky, they see the good bits and if they are unlucky, they see the worst ones as well. And if  _ you _ are lucky they see them both and decide to stick around anyway. And they become your ally, and they become your person, maybe while you weren’t even looking.

“And it doesn’t matter if your family doesn’t like them, or if the whole world doesn’t get it. Because you get to choose your person and they get to choose you. And doing this whole stupid thing by choice is way better than doing it by obligation.”

For the briefest moment, they let their gaze slide from Damien to Aaron. He was watching them, seeing them. He’d chosen to be here. He chose to keep showing up. 

If Aaron Gabriel wasn’t really in love with them, it was going to be a problem. Because they were in love with Aaron Gabriel.

They swallowed, blinked a few times, shifted their line of sight back to their brother.

“Anyway, fuck blood, is what I’m saying. Short, sweet, and to the point. That’s what you wanted, wasn’t it?”

They pushed the microphone back into the stand and walked back into the crowd, past their siblings, past their gaping parents. Someone patted them on the shoulder and when they turned their head it was Sam, who laughed and mouthed something that looked like  _ fuck blood! _ Sam was a fucking trooper.

The second they were in front of Aaron, his arm was sliding around their shoulders, his broad hand coming to rest at the nape of their neck. He tilted their head back and leaned down, left a lingering kiss on their cheek.

His breath was hot on their ear. “Whaddya say we blow this joint?”

Beelzebub didn’t respond, but slipped their arm around his waist, under his jacket, tucked themself into his side, and proceeded to drag him out of the restaurant.

“So,” he said, as they stumbled out onto the cobblestoned walkway together, his arm tight around their shoulder. “Are we still going to the wedding?”

Beelzebub paused, considered. “I don’t know.”

“If we are,” said Aaron, holding them tight against him, “there’s something we have to rectify first.” 

Without waiting for a response, he started off down the hill, never taking his hands off Beelzebub.

Three quarters of an hour later Beelzebub stood in front of a three-way mirror. The shell of a suit on, a tailor turning up the hem of a pair of trousers. Aaron sat on a leather couch behind them, and they caught his eyes in the mirror. He looked impossibly pleased with himself.

“How’s the length?” asked the tailor, adjusting the tape measure looped over his shoulders.

“Little shorter,” responded Beez. “‘Bout an inch.”

The tailor shortened the legs, pinned them, and looked up to Beelzebub for confirmation. Surprising themself, they looked back to Aaron. He gave them a single satisfied nod.

“You can have this ready by noon tomorrow, right?” Aaron asked, his focus dropping to the tailor.

“Rush job, but yes. I’ll make it happen.” The tailor rose to his feet. “I’ll let you change,” he said, and exited to the front, pulling the door shut behind him.

Beelzebub turned to Aaron, careful of the pins in the fabric wrapped around them. “How did you find this place?” Besides the picture perfect tailor, the walls were lined with bolts of expensive looking fabrics, silks and wools and brocades. The furnishings were antiques. It was kind of magic. Much better than the cramped little place behind the dry cleaners in the village, which, while it provided competent service, could not match the ambiance of where they now stood.

He smiled from his place on the loveseat, and his eyes raked down their form. “A good hotel concierge cannot be oversold. I asked them, and they made some phone calls.”

Beelzebub turned back to their reflection, held the fabric against them, taking in the lines of their own body, conscious of him still watching. “When did you do that? This place is supposed to be closed, I saw the hours on the door.”

He hummed appreciatively. “When you were napping. Then confirmed it at the restaurant. You can do lots of things when you wave a bit of money in someone’s direction.”

They knew immediately that the money waved was probably some considerable amount, if only because Aaron liked to show off. They didn’t mind though, not tonight.

“Let’s get you changed.” Aaron unfolded himself from the couch, and began to carefully take the jacket full of pins off their shoulders. His fingers dragged against their biceps, and they shivered. As he lay the garment down over the back of a chair, Beez slid off the trousers, handed them to him.

“You liked it, right,” they asked. “The colour? The cut?” It wasn’t that they weren’t sure, they’d seen his eyes during the fitting, his pleasure over what they’d chosen, it was just that they wanted to hear him say it. They were hungry for his affection after two weeks without, after a day where they’d been scrubbed raw by their family.

He turned back to them, standing on the pedestal in their shirt, underpants, trouser socks. They were sure they looked a touch ridiculous, but Aaron’s face flashed dark. 

“I loved it,” he said simply.

_ And he loves you. _

Could he?

He cleared his throat, cast his eyes about for their clothes. “Let’s get you dressed. Are you hungry? You haven’t eaten since lunch.”

He’d taken them to a McDonald’s on the drive up and hadn’t said boo about it, except to ask them if they wanted a Happy Meal.

They were hungry, but that seemed secondary at the moment.

“I think what I want,” Beelzebub said, pulling on their trousers as he watched, “is to go back to the hotel. Right now.”

He grinned. 

Something was growing inside of Beelzebub, some want that had its own beating heart when they stood next to Aaron. It was a foreign thing. New and big and a little scary but it felt good. This, standing next to him, felt so bloody good and maybe they didn’t have to fight it or second guess it just for now, in another city where he was the only thing that felt like home.

“Wait here,” they said on the pavement outside a Boots. He nodded, didn’t ask what they were doing. In the bright white of the store, Beelzebub wandered quickly through the aisles, scanning the shelves for what they wanted. They found it, took it in hand and headed to the till. 

“Oh, come on.”

The line up was ridiculous. Fifteen people deep. There were self check-outs but they refused to use those on principle. Growling, they stuck the item in their pocket and walked out. No one stopped them. They hadn’t shoplifted since undergrad, but it still gave them that frisson, that illicit excitement. Or maybe that was just seeing Aaron waiting for them outside.

“That was quick,” he said, as Beelzebub took his hand and pulled him in the direction of the hotel.

Beelzebub’s heart picked up its already frantic pace the closer they got to the hotel. Their fingers curled around Aaron’s tightly, as if they were afraid he’d disappear if contact broke. Maybe they were, a little. Nothing about this, this day, felt real.

Who had ever come back for them?

As they boarded the lift in the hotel lobby, Beelzebub mashed the button to close the doors, making brutal eye contact with the other guests running to catch it. When the doors closed, and they were finally alone, Beelzebub took a shuddering breath.

“You okay?” asked Aaron. He stroked their hair, scratched his nails across their skull.

Beelzebub looked up and met his eyes. They opened their mouth to speak but couldn’t. His violet eyes unmoored them and anchored them all at once. Real and not real. They wrapped his tie around their hand and pulled his lips to theirs.

He kept one hand on the back of their head, the other came around to the small of their back, and he curved them to him, bent at the knees. Beelzebub could feel the burning heat of his fingertips. They moaned into his mouth, pressed their tongue in, searching.

The sound of Aaron’s and their laboured breathing rang in Beelzebub’s ears.

When the doors opened it was impossible to say who was leading who. They stumbled over one another’s feet, tripped into the wall in their frantic attempts to keep touching. Beelzebub pushed their slim fingers into the knot of Aaron’s tie, started to undo it before they had even reached the room. His hand was on their face, his thumb swiping hard against their cheekbone. 

Beelzebub was starving.

The door to the room was opened inelegantly. They tumbled in, hands never leaving one another, and Aaron kicked the door shut. He backed them into the bed, shedding his overcoat, then slotted his hands under their thighs, lifting them up onto the bed, then dropping them on their back. The mattress barely bowed underneath them.

As he climbed up over them, he knocked their bag off and the contents scattered to the floor. 

“Leave it, leave it. S’fine,” Beelzebub panted, grabbing the collar of his shirt and pulling him down. They kissed again, Aaron on top of them, their legs hooked over his hips, hands in his hair.

Then he drew back. His cheeks were pink, lips red, slightly swollen. Serious eyes searched their face. Beelzebub brought their finger tips to those red lips, and he kissed them.

“I have…” he started, then sighed. His eyes fluttered closed for a brief moment and Beelzebub’s heart skipped. “I missed you so fucking much.”

He looked down at them and the pain of the last two weeks welled up in their throat. “Yeah,” they said, and they knew he knew what they meant was  _ I missed you so fucking much too. _

They undressed one another, fingers scrabbling over skin and against seams, tossing clothes on the floor. He kissed their chin, their collarbones, the black rose between their breasts and their stomach. Then he knelt on the floor and spread their legs. Beelzebub’s head dropped back as he kissed them there too.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, before he licked into them, his hands tight on their thighs.

They exhaled in a moan. They had missed this. They never wanted to miss it ever again.

He leaned back and traced them with his fingers. Slower than he had been, focused, like he was memorizing them. They heard him hum, and from their place on their back, a small thud.

They turned their head, and on the mattress beside them was an item they knew intimately. Black, silicone, sort of a flattened egg shape. The size of their palm - their vibrator. Quickly, Beelzebub lifted themself up on their elbows. They had thought they’d be alone all weekend, that they’d need it to take the edge off.

“Was that… did you…” They couldn’t quite figure out what they wanted to say.

Aaron smiled from his place between their thighs. “Must’ve fallen out of your bag when we knocked it over. I know what it is.” He looked inordinately pleased with himself.

“I’m very proud of you,” said Beelzebub, sarcastic and breathless, and Aaron laughed softly and kissed their thigh, then their clit and they inhaled sharply. He came up to lay out on the bed beside him, taking the vibrator in hand, finding the small raised buttons. 

“Does this get you off?” he asked, no laughter now.

Beelzebub nodded.

“Then we’ll use it.”

“I…” said Beelzebub, licking their lips. “I want…”

Aaron’s hand moved over them, making broad, warm strokes against their belly, cupping their small breasts, circling their nipples one after the other with his thumb. He watched the journey his hand made, eyelids growing heavy, eyes like stormclouds at sunset.

“Tell me what you want, baby,” he said.

“I want you to fuck me.”

Aaron’s hand stopped moving. He considered this, brows knitting together. “I do fuck you,” he said carefully.

They laid a hand on top of his hand, slotting their fingers into the spaces between his. “I appreciate you’re trying to be politically correct but you know what I mean.” They rolled over onto their side and kissed the corner of his mouth. Their hand drifted down to where his cock was hard between them.

“Aaron,” they said quietly. “Fuck me.”

* * *

Was it possible for blood to stop moving in a man’s veins? For his heart to stop beating and his lungs to stop working as time suspended itself? Was it possible to somehow survive it? Because Aaron Gabriel thought he might die, die before he had been inside Beelzebub Prince and that was not on.

“Aaron?”

“Yeah, yeah. Okay. Alright.” Too eager, breathless. He couldn’t help it. He had dreamed of this. Lost countless hours distracted by fantasies of being buried between their legs, imagining how they would feel around him. He’d hoped they’d get there. He hadn’t thought it would happen tonight. 

He sat up on the edge of the bed, scrubbed his mouth.

“In my pocket,” said Beez firmly, and he knew it was a direction. 

He picked their black trousers up off the floor and from their pocket extracted a small container of lubricant. 

“Is this what you were getting at Boots?” he asked, turning it over in his palm. His hand was shaking a little.  _ Get it together. _

“Yeah. Stole it… actually. I stole it.”

He looked back at them, and Beelzebub had pushed themself up to sitting. They looked surprised at themself, as if they’d just now realized what they’d done.

“You stole this?” Aaron laughed once, a bark. He looked to the lube, and looked up to them. He met their eyes and surged forward. His lips on theirs, his hands gripping their waist and legs. He pulled moans from their mouth as he circled the swollen bud of their clit with his fingers.

He had fallen, deep, deep into whatever this was, whatever it would become. His world started, ran on, and ended with Beelzebub and he felt on the brink of madness with want. His cock was aching with the mere possibility of being buried inside their cunt.

“I need to open you up a little, baby,” he said hotly onto their skin. His long fingers traced their slit. “Do you want to… can you…?”

He was having trouble focusing on any one thing other than the fact that he was going to be inside them. He couldn’t believe he was finally going to know what that felt like. 

There was a small smile on their lips, patient, indulging him. They saw right through him. Saw how he was nearly coming apart at the seams at what might happen.

“Will you get on your hands and knees for me?”

They rolled over and did as he asked.

“Thank you, baby,” he said. This was not a position they’d been in for him before, and he savoured it. Their slim hips tilted up in a way that made his mouth water. He ran both his hands over their bottom, spread them. They were wet.

“Gorgeous,” he murmured, and under his hands he felt their breath hitch. They were affected too. A relief.

He tasted them and it was the best fucking moment of his life. Beez keened and it spurred him forward.

Eventually his fingers found their way inside them, and Beez rocked their hips against Aaron’s hand, trying to take him deeper.

When Aaron pushed in a third finger Beez gasped and their hips shuddered. He was leaning over them in an instant, kissing their shoulders, the black fly tattoo in the centre of their back.

“Okay?” Aaron asked. “I can stop, baby, at any time.”

“I’ll tell you when to stop,” said Beez quickly. 

His forehead dropped to their shoulder. His heart raged in his chest.

They were so tight around his fingers. Tight and sweet and perfect. 

“Now,” they said, turning their head to him. “Now, I think.”

Aaron swallowed thickly, withdrew his fingers, sat back on his heels. He took the bottle of lube and squeezed a liberal amount into his palm. He slicked his cock, somehow oversensitive even though he’d barely touched it. Then, with what was left, he ran his fingers over Beez’s slit. 

They had shifted back to their heels as well, looked back at him. Their mind was clearly working, calculating.

He wiped his hand on the hotel duvet, and took a breath. Beez looked at him over their shoulder. On their face was a curious mixture of desire and nervousness, lust and fear. He suspected he looked much the same. His hand came up to push their hair behind their ear.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said.

“Won’t let you,” Beelzebub said. “Sit on the edge of the bed.”

Aaron did as they said, planted his feet into the carpet. Beez shifted over, then slightly awkwardly, moved to straddle him, but backwards, with their back against his chest. They reached down between their legs to where Aaron’s engorged cock waited and took him in their hand.

Aaron moaned, couldn’t hold it back, just their fingers could set him off. He clenched his teeth.

Beez positioned the head of his cock at their slit, then without ceremony, started to take him. They were so fucking tight. He couldn’t have imagined it. It was so much better than what he could have imagined.

Beez made a little punched out noise. A moan. An “Oh, oh.”

“You’re okay, baby. You’re okay.” He wished wildly for a moment that they had started this differently, Beez facing him. He needed to see their face. He needed to see them.

Then he remembered the mirror. He looked past Beez’s shoulder and the mirror on the wall across the room framed nearly all of them. Their shock of dark hair. The white skin of their neck, exposed, vulnerable, chin tilted up and back. The slight muscles in their abdomen and thighs worked, holding themself up. The black thatch of hair between their legs. Their cunt spread for him.

“Fuck,” Aaron muttered. His hand ghosted across their belly. “Look at you. Gorgeous.”

Beez’s eyes opened and they saw themself in the mirror. “Aaron,” they whimpered, and he had to restrain himself from thrusting up, filling them with him.

“Yeah, baby,” he said into their shoulder. “I’m right here.” It was a stupid thing to say. Of course he was right there. But they didn’t make fun, or tease. They placed their hands on his forearms, and kept going. 

And then he was inside them. Entirely inside them. Their thighs spread across his lap. Their back, panting deeply, pressed into his chest. He could feel all of them.

The two of them made eye contact in the mirror.

“How does it feel?” he asked, and he didn’t recognize his own voice.

“Like you’re going to split me in half,” Beez said, and he didn’t recognize theirs either.

For a few laboured breaths, maybe a minute, he couldn’t tell as time had ceased to be a thing that mattered to him, they stayed there together, unmoving. His hand caressed small circles onto their belly, the other lightly massaged their thigh. He kissed their shoulder, the back of their neck.

Then Beez rocked their hips and Aaron cried out.

“Ah, baby. Beez. Fuck.”

They did it again. When he looked in the mirror they were looking at him, directly at him. Their dark eyes haunting him. Their face was somewhere between pleasure and pain, or ricocheting violently between the two. 

It was the most wonderful fucking thing he had seen in his whole stupid life. 

They found a rhythm and their tight little breaths turned into open-mouthed moans, filthy and exquisite. He cast a hand out beside him, and found the vibrator.

“Can I?” he asked, in the voice that wasn’t his own, holding up the toy in the mirror.

“Fuck yes,” they breathed.

He struggled with the buttons for a moment, but the second he figured it out, he reached around them and pressed the oscillating vibrations to the place just above their clit.

They released a high pitched cry into the air and lurched forward, their hands coming to his knees. He almost took the vibrator away out of shock and they grabbed his wrist, held him there. 

“Don’t you dare,” they begged, fucking back onto him.

All the fear was gone now. The fear that he’d hurt them, that they’d actually hate this, that it would be awkward or uncomfortable or less than what he imagined. Gone, gone, gone. And all that was left was the sensation of Beez’s cunt tight around him.

They had never been this loud, this expressive. He drank it in. Encouraged it.

“You feel so good. Yeah, that’s it.”

He could see their back tensing, their shoulders pulling up, and -

They yelled, full voice and from the very pit of their stomach. Yelled as they came on his cock. He could feel their cunt pulsing around him and his eyes rolled back in his skull. They rode him through it, calling out without words.

They didn't stop moving, and he brought his hips up to meet theirs, the obscene sound of sweat slick skin joining. The both of them panted, grasped wildly for one deep breath, but never paused their union, never broke. 

"Can you give me two, baby?" he asked, voice husky and wrecked. 

They met his eyes in the mirror, nodded. "You have to come too," they said. They must have seen the trepidation flash across his features because they gasped, "Come inside me, Aaron."

"Oh, fuck," he cried, and his hips slammed up into them without his intervention. "Beelzebub."

"Please," they asked, and it was almost sweet. "Fill me up."

He was too far gone to say no. He'd do anything they wanted. He was gone. 

He pressed the vibrator into them again and they sobbed. 

Aaron felt like he wasn't entirely in control of his own body. Like his arms and legs had directions that did not come from him. He surged up, and with their body held tight to his, he flipped them, and pressed their small body against the bed, his chest against their back, covering them entirely. One of his hands closed around theirs. His hips snapped hard and Beez rutted back against him.

He was so close. 

"Come for me again, baby. I know you can." His hot breath on their shoulder, he could taste the tang of their sweat.

The sound that came out of Beez was a roar, even against the duvet, and it was miraculous. Their hips lost their pace, stuttering wildly. Beneath him, he could feel them in full abandon.  _ Fill me up. _

"Oh, God. Oh, Beelzebub," he yelled as he came, harder than he could ever remember. He pushed into them, as deep as he could go, and the guttural moan that chased their orgasm sent him into a state of bliss. 

He collapsed against their back, his last shred of control used to not let his full weight onto them entirely.

After a time, he didn't know how long, he pulled back, slipped his softening cock out of them. Chasing it, was a line of his own spend. The image was almost enough to bring him hard again. 

Beez curled up into themself. Against the wide expanse of the king sized bed, it hit him again how small they were and his heart constricted tightly in his chest. He’d been inside them. He’d felt them come around him.

Slowly, Beez rolled over onto their back. Their thin chest rose and fell with tired breaths. Then he saw it, the flicker of pain.

His stomach lurched. “Oh, baby. Beez.” He kissed them quickly, almost chastely. With energy he shouldn’t have had, he pulled on his trousers, an undershirt, slipped sockless feet into his shoes.

“Where are you going?” they asked, with an urgency he wasn’t used to.

“Be right back.” He leaned down to kiss them again. “Right back. Promise.”

On his way out of the room, he grabbed the ice bucket.

Padding to the ice machine, he caught a glimpse of himself in a hallway mirror, and turned away immediately. He looked wrecked. 

He filled the bucket with ice. Walking back to the room he passed a housekeeper, who studiously avoided eye contact. Had they been loud? Had the whole floor heard? He smirked. He hoped the whole fucking city knew what they’d just done.

In the room, he wrapped some ice in a wash cloth and returned to the bed. Beez had rearranged themself, propped up against the pillows, still undressed. Small, small. A black wisp. Without speaking, Aaron crossed to them and pulled the blanket back from where they’d covered their legs. Gently, he spread their thighs and pressed the wash cloth to their cunt.

They watched him without comment, the only sound a sharp intake of breath when the cool cloth met their skin.

He kissed them.

“Get me my cigarettes?” they asked, and he crossed to where they kept them. Grabbed the box and a lighter and a glass to use as an ashtray. 

He slipped a cigarette between their lips, lit it for them. “This is a non-smoking room,” he said, and they smiled.

After a long drag, they exhaled and their dark eyes turned up to him. “Take your clothes off. Sit with me.”

So he did, pulling the sheets up over their legs. He wrapped his arm around them and pulled them against his chest. He buried his nose in their hair and kissed the side of their head.

“I came inside you,” he said, hoping they understood the question that underlay his words.

Beez blew out smoke. “Took care of that a long time ago,” they said, knowing what he was asking. “No little Aaron Gabriels running around.”

They turned their face up to him, then placed their cigarette between his lips. “You think I would’ve asked you if that was a possibility?”

There was no heat or snark in the question. It was honest.

He took a drag from the cigarette. Years ago he had done this socially, over drinks, before he was thirty and started to realize that his body was fallible, that time was not endless for him. But now it felt good, it smelled like them, felt like Beelzebub was in his lungs.

“No,” he said, taking the cigarette from his lips and handing it back to them.

He swallowed the rest of his answer. 

_ It wouldn’t have mattered. I’ll do anything you tell me, anything you want. Anything anything anything. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all are keeping well. It's nice to share things in very strange times.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: one instance of misgendering that is not addressed during a fight that concerns family rejection and shame
> 
> summerofspock is a spectacular and brilliant beta

**Tommy Prince  
** That was the meanest thing you’ve ever done. You’re a cunt and I like you so much.  
_ Received 7:43pm _

**Lillith Prince-Hanomansingh  
** why didn’t you just read from the fuckndi indez cardss  
*fucking index cards  
Damien is not impressed fyi  
_ Received 7:44pm  _

**Missed call from Cressida Prince (Mother)** _7:45pm_

**Tommy Prince  
** Mother is vibrating with rage. It’s wonderful. Come back! Unless you’re fucking your man in the loo. Finish, then come back.  
(And tell me everything.)  
_ Received 7:52pm _

**Missed call from Cressida Prince (Mother)** _ 7:54pm _

**Missed call from Ethan Prince (Father)** _8:12pm_

**Missed call from Sam Hanomansingh** _ 8:31pm _

**Tommy Prince  
** You have abandoned me.  
Come backkkkkkk  
_ Received 8:35pm _

**Missed call from Tommy Prince** _ 8:52pm _

**Missed call from Sam Hanomansingh** _ 9:04pm _

**Missed call from Damien Prince** _ 10:21pm _

Beelzebub scrolled through their texts and missed calls and worked on their second cigarette while Aaron was in the bathroom. Somehow there were both less and more than they anticipated. That anyone cared at all that Beelzebub had gone off script, that they had cut out early, was a surprise, given how hard their family had worked most of their life to not notice them at all.

They could hear Aaron shuffling around on the other side of the wall, shifting things across the counter, clearing his throat louder than it needed to be cleared. Why were men loud all the time? And more troublingly, why didn’t they mind it when it came from him?

Four voicemails. Beelzebub leaned back against the pillows, drew their knees up, and rearranged the sheets to cover their legs. They were still sore. Maybe they should send Aaron for more ice.

Their heart twisted at the thought. Since they’d fucked he’d been looking at them, starstruck, like he couldn’t believe they were there. It was like nothing they’d had before. They’d had good sex, yes. They were 39 - their life hadn’t been  _ that _ empty. But no one had ever treated Beelzebub like touching them was a privilege, like fucking them was a gift.

Aaron’s face had been so different as he’d pressed the makeshift ice pack between their legs. Soft and concerned, pulled apart. His hair had fallen over his forehead and he’d looked tired, a bit anxious. Worried. Reassuring wasn’t what they were good at, so they had tried for nonchalance. 

What Beelzebub wanted to tell him was that it had hurt, but that it had been good. Sometimes things that hurt could be good.

They looked at their phone again. Four voicemails. They called the number, put the phone on speaker, and threw it next to them on the bed. They tipped their head back onto the padded headboard and closed their eyes as their mother’s shrill voice filled the room.

“That was quite the performance you just put on, Be-elle-zee-bub.”

They took a drag from their cigarette as Aaron came out from the washroom, stark naked, save for his glasses. He leaned against the wall, crossed his arms, and watched them.

“I cannot imagine why you thought that was an acceptable thing to do at your brother’s rehearsal dinner. He is devastated, I’ll have you know. It was very embarrassing for all of us. I do not know why you continue to-”

Aaron climbed across the bed and took the phone in his hand.

“What are you doing?” Beez asked.

He pressed a button on the screen, and the automated phone voice declared “ _ Message deleted. _ ”

“I hate your mother,” he said simply, and tossed the phone back down as he searched through the clothes that had been tossed to the floor.

The next message rang out from the phone speaker. Tommy. “I hope to Christ you are getting the dicking of your life, because that is the only excuse I will accept for you leaving me here with these people.” 

Aaron let out a bark of laughter as he folded clothes and laid them over the desk chair.

“Don’t go back to buttfuck nowhere, alright? Don’t leave me at this wedding alone. Love you. Byeeeee.”

_ Love you. _ Since when did any of them say that to one another? Beelzebub saved the message, not quite knowing why.

“Hi, Beelzebub. S’me. Sam. That was Lillith calling earlier. She’s, uh, well. Everyone’s a bit…You may want to make a low-key entrance tomorrow. For pictures, I mean. 2:30. Ceremony’s at 4:00. Listen, Beez, I…”

Sam sputtered uncharacteristically a moment. Beez stared at their phone.

“Low-key. But show up, please. I think it would mean a lot to everyone. I’ll see you tomorrow. You can text me if you have any questions. Um. Have a good sleep.”

Cressida, Tommy, Sam. One voice mail left. That left…

A heavy, put-upon sigh came through the phone speaker. Damien. Beez reached out, and hung up the phone. They could listen to that one later.

They hadn’t realized how deep they’d gotten lost in their own thoughts until Aaron was right next to them. They hadn’t even noticed he’d come over. They looked up at him and he looked down, his hands on his hips.

He looked good. Beelzebub always forgot that he looked good. 

“Come here,” they said, stubbing out the cigarette in the glass he’d gotten them earlier. The way he smiled nearly made them choke. He leaned down to them, and brushed his nose against their cheek before kissing them. They’d reached up for him without meaning to. And their hands landed softly on either side of his face, his stubble scratching at their palms.

Hovering over them like this, he seemed huge, sheltering. Their gut twisted with neediness and they tried to shoo it away.

Aaron shifted to sit down on the bed, between their legs. With broad hands he shifted one of their thighs across his lap, rubbed it down while he turned his head to look at them. He studied them for a moment and Beelzebub wished acutely for another cigarette, something to hold in their hands to distract them from the intensity of his gaze. 

When it was just on the edge of too much, they leaned forward to kiss him again and he obliged. His hot breath on their lips, their chin. They took his bottom lip between their teeth and nipped and he pulled back, surprised, but laughed. 

He brought his thumb up and rubbed it over his bottom lip. “I love...” he started, and then stopped himself. Beelzebub felt every muscle in their body tense up, all at once, even ones they didn’t know they had. 

“Your teeth,” he finished.

“The fuck. My teeth?” Beelzebub spat, suddenly self-conscious and wanting to cover their mouth. Also, something suspiciously like disappointment was curling in their gut.  _ Teeth _ wasn’t what they’d wanted to hear.

“Yeah. They’re sharp. Cute.” He leaned in to kiss them again, his tongue on their tongue.

“Mpf, weird,” they mumbled, pressing him back. They pulled up their leg and planted the sole of their foot on his thigh. “No one loves teeth.” 

“Dentists,” he said, pleased with his own observation.

“Have you ever met a dentist who seemed like a well-adjusted person? If you were a dentist, I wouldn't’ve let you near me.”

He pressed up under their chin, kissed their neck.

“Now that I know about your weird teeth fetish, I’m rethinking this whole thing.” Sharp little jokes like sharp little teeth. Made to cover up the small wound they’d given themself with the unfulfilled expectation that Aaron Gabriel might tell them he loved them.

He huffed onto their neck. “Shut up, Beelzebub,” he growled, low and sweet.

His hands were on them, caressing their upper arms, stroking their stomach, teasing the sensitive skin of their inner thighs with the backs of his fingers. 

“Bad enough you’re an English Professor,” they said, less sharply than before, blood rushing downwards, making the ache between their legs more acute.

He chuckled lightly, and sat back. One of his hands came to their ankle in his lap. “Yeah, real hardship for you, isn’t it?” He looked down at their foot, his thumb circling the bone that rose from the skin there, his fingers splayed across their instep. 

“When I cannot look at your face, I look at your feet,” he said, and confusion rose in Beelzebub’s chest. They opened their mouth to ask him what he was on about, but he continued before they could. “Your feet of arched bone, your hard little feet.”

And they suddenly knew he was reciting. These weren’t his words.

“I know that they support you, and that your sweet weight rises upon them.” His fingers pressed into the ball of their foot. They quite suddenly needed a cigarette.

“Your waist and your breasts, the doubled purple of your nipples, the sockets of your eyes that have just flown away, your wide fruit mouth, your red tresses.” His attention shifted back to them. His violet eyes locked with theirs and they knew they’d been caught out somehow, exposed. 

“... my little tower.” The endearment was obviously from whatever he was reciting, but it felt like theirs, somehow. From him. “But I love your feet only because they walked upon the earth and upon the wind and upon the waters, until they found me.”

Beelzebub’s tongue had gone heavy, and they felt mildly hysterical. “Fuck off,” they said, because they were the only words left in their mouth other than  _ I love you _ .

The corner of Aaron’s mouth quirked up, a sad kind of smile, but one that communicated he'd gotten exactly the kind of response he was expecting. “Not a Neruda fan, huh? Should’ve known.” He cleared his throat. “We should sleep. Do you need more ice first?”

The question shook Beelzebub back into the present reality. “Oh, um, no, don’t think so.”

Aaron’s eyes dropped down to where the sheet covered them. “Are you sure? I can get some.”

They nodded. “Let’s just sleep, yeah?”

He acquiesced, with one last lingering look between their legs, and shifted across the bed to the spot beside them. The bed was huge but he didn’t take advantage of the extra space. He laid down immediately next to them, taking off his glasses and reaching over them to drop them on the bedside table. Beelzebub scooted down underneath the duvet, and before laying down, switched off the light.

“Do you feel like this day has been a year long?” Aaron asked. They could feel his breath on their shoulder.

“Now that you mention it,” said Beelzebub, sleep catching up in their voice. They could feel his fingertips brush their fringe off their forehead.

“G’night, baby,” he said.

In the dark, Beelzebub smiled.

* * *

Around 11:00 the next morning, there was a knock on the door. Aaron had been up for several hours by that point, having done a run down to a cafe next door for coffee and pastries for breakfast. Beelzebub had somehow slept through most of this, stirring only slightly when he got up and then again when he came back. 

From his place by the window, he crossed the room quietly, opened the door to the room a crack. A member of hotel staff stood in the hallway, holding a garment bag.

“Good morning, Mister…em, Mister Prince. You’ve had a delivery.”

It was Beelzebub’s name on the reservation, not his. Aaron thought about correcting the young man outside the door, but stopped himself, and smiled. He could be Mr. Prince for three minutes. 

“Thanks, kid,” he said, taking the bag. He dug in his pocket for a tip, pressed it into the boy’s hand. He was about to shut the door but stopped himself. There was room for one correction. “It’s Dr. Prince, by the way. You might want to update your records.”

The man nodded quickly, put on the well-practiced mask of deference known to hospitality workers worldwide. “Yes, sir, of course. I’ll do that.”

Aaron shut the door, and moved to hang up what was in the bag.

The suit looked perfect,  _ was _ perfect. Clean lines, beautifully pressed. The thin wool brushed over his finger tips, and it felt expensive. Not like that polyester nightmare Beez had brought with them. He wanted to burn it. Maybe he would once all this was done.

With the high cut mandarin collar, the clip at the front to hold it together instead of buttons, the fact that he knew that every piece of it was made to their measurements, the suit was a piece of art. It would be even more so when Beez wore it.

There was a crinkle of paper behind him and he turned to see Beez sitting up in bed, one of the pastry bags clutched between their fingers.

“Hi,” he said, “Did I wake you up?”

“Yes,” they mumbled through a mouthful of sausage roll. “This from Gregg’s?”

Aaron rolled his eyes and moved to join them on the bed. “No, it’s not from Gregg’s, you philistine. It’s from a very nice independent place next to the hotel. Fresh made on location. Better than Gregg’s.”

Beez raised their eyebrows. “It tastes like Gregg’s.”

He pressed a quick kiss to their forehead. “You’re welcome for your breakfast, which is not from Gregg’s.”

They said something else that he couldn’t make out around their chewing. “Don’t talk with your mouth full. I’m going to have a shower.”

Getting ready they moved around each other well, as if choreographed. Beez was in the shower within a minute of his getting out. Their toiletries and clothes were spaced well. No fighting over the mirror, though it helped that Beelzebub’s routine was shorter than his own.

“Wear your glasses today,” they told him, as they slipped back into the room to get dressed, and he shrugged. He certainly wouldn’t say no.

He watched them dress, watched the slide of the blazer over their shoulders, the sheen of the silk shirt as they turned and looked at themself in the mirror. Beez ran a hand over their front, smoothing out any slight creases. “Not bad,” they muttered.

“Better than not bad,” he said.

“You think?”

“Yeah, I think.” He came up behind them, let his hands glide across their shoulders, down their arms. “You look great.”

They nodded and swallowed. “We should go.”

He could see their hesitance then, their need to be coaxed.

“The second you want to leave, we’ll leave.”

“Yeah, alright.”

And they made their way down to the lobby for pictures.

In the elevator, Beez knocked nervously on the wall, then shook out their hands. Aaron wondered which Beelzebub would be making an appearance that afternoon: the shadow of themself who’d appeared at the bar with their family the afternoon prior, or the reckless orator who enjoyed making a scene. When the elevator door opened, he watched them bring their shoulders back, take a breath, and charge out ahead of him. He kept two careful paces behind, ready to step forward the moment they wanted him.

Their family was there, the wedding party. Chattering and looking at their phones and then Tommy turned and saw them.

“No!” he yelled, though to Aaron it sounded an awful lot like a delighted  _ yes. _ “NO!”

Lillith turned and immediately her eyebrows furrowed and her lips curved into a deep frown. “Beelzebub, you’re not serious.”

Cressida looked like she might faint, and Aaron bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.

He watched as Beelzebub joined the group, and the chattering stopped. The air left the lobby.

Damien glared. “Interesting choice of colour,” he said tightly.

“You told me not to wear black,” replied Beez cooly. 

“And so you went with white?” Cressida was vibrating in anger. From behind her, Beelzebub’s father took an inconspicuous drink from a flask. This was turning into a comedy.

“It’s more,” said Beelzebub, straightening their sleeve, their expression implacable, “of a very light grey.”

“It’s white,” said the woman standing next to Damien. Gemma. Who Aaron wouldn’t have remembered or recognized if she wasn’t wearing what was obviously a wedding dress. She had a deeply forgettable face. The woman was, as far as he was concerned, a cipher, a zero, a non-entity. Her voice was watery and strained.

“To-may-to, to-mah-to,” said Beez, and Aaron wanted to grab their face between his hands and kiss them. There they were, his irreverent, snarky, devil-may-care baby. His little tower. “Shouldn’t we get started with these pictures? Don’t want to keep people waiting.”

He loved them. 

The party was arranged in the courtyard out back. Aaron watched Beez easily follow the directions of the photographers, Tommy hovering around them, rapturous at the drama that was bound to unfold. Cressida sighed dramatically every time Beelzebub entered her line of sight, but Beez stood their ground, acting like nothing of note had occurred.

“So,” said a voice from alongside Aaron. “How are you finding the Prince clan?”

Aaron turned to Sam, who, as a partner and not a member of the family had also been relegated to the sidelines, in spite of the fact that Aaron had learned that Lillith and Sam had been together for nearly two decades.

Aaron took a deep breath. “Nice bunch,” he muttered. “Really welcoming. Pleasant. Open minded.”

Sam chuckled. “I’d like to say it’s not always been like this but, well. As long as I’ve known them, anyway. It’s funny…” Sam nodded at Lillith, who was trying to arrange herself between Tommy and their father, smiling tightly into the camera. “She’s such a lovely person. Truly. I know that might seem hard to believe from the last 24 hours or so but…she’s not herself. She’s different around them.”

“Huh,” Aaron said, feeling both like he could commiserate, and also that this was getting a bit too chummy for his taste.

“They’re all so different when you get them one on one. Tommy’s quite subdued. And Beelzebub…”

Aaron turned to look at Sam, hackles raised, defences up.

“When they moved to Tadfield...what? Eleven years ago? Something like that. When they moved, me and them drove their stuff there together, got them set up at the school. Had a good time, really. They can be such a laugh when they want to be.”

Aaron softened. “Yeah.” They could be.

“But their fucking parents, Jesus Christ.”

“They’re pretty bad.”

Sam turned to him. “They are  _ so _ bad. I don’t understand it. Four really smart, accomplished children and they just treat them all like garbage. Except Damien, really. They like Damien. And I can’t figure it out. I don’t know why. A toxic combination. I’ve told Lil to go no contact and she won’t.”

The two men watched the family, being moved around in countless configurations for photos no one would ever look at.

Sam sighed. “Sorry about that. Just sort of unloaded on you there. Every time I’m around all these people it feels like material for a case study.”

Aaron’s brow wrinkled in reluctant curiosity. “What is it you do?”

“I’m a psychiatrist,” said Sam, laughing. Aaron found himself laughing as well.

“Fuck. So you’re just analyzing all of this right now, never off the clock.”

“Honest to God, mate,” said Sam, running his hand over his hair. “You couldn’t pay me enough.”

As photos came to a close, Damien huddled with his family, siblings and parents. Words were exchanged. Tommy let off a spirited “Fuck off,” and turned and left the circle, but not before grabbing Beelzebub’s hand. Lillith followed on their heels as they hightailed it towards Sam and Aaron.

“What’s happened then?” asked Sam as they approached. 

“Siblings have been asked to sit in the second row during the ceremony, so as to not fuck up pictures,” said Tommy. “Angel of the morning here is apparently too much of a distraction in spite of being the size of a literal child and much more well behaved, and my suit, while not white, is apparently ‘white adjacent,’ and has thus been deemed a problem.”

“Your suit is blue,” said Aaron, because it was. A light blue, but clearly blue.

“Right? Thank you! Like the glasses by the way.”

Aaron turned away from Tommy’s too pointed smile and looked towards Lillith. “What was wrong with you?” Her dress was a dark pink.

“I wasn’t going to sit in the front if they weren’t,” she said begrudgingly.

“She’s joined the cause,” said Tommy.

“Solidarity forever, and all that,” said Beez, stepping into Aaron’s space. “Let’s go find our assigned seats.”

He slipped his arm around their shoulder, and as they walked back into the hotel, he leaned over and whispered into their ear. “How are you doing?”

“You know, Aaron,” they said, their arm slipping around his waist, under his jacket, “I’m just really tired.”

He kissed them on the top of their head, and they smelled like hotel shampoo. He thought that it was close to the most honest and unguarded conversation they’d ever had.

The ceremony was fine. Unmemorable, and a bit tacky. They did something called a sand ceremony which, as far as Aaron could tell, was just pouring cheap craft sand into a jar. A fake tradition for people with no real meaningful, personal history to rely upon. It felt empty. He was far more interested in the way Beelzebub intertwined their fingers with his in his lap, or ran their hand along the inside of his thigh. His eyes were forward, but, for the most part, his focus was on them. 

He thought about the lines of their body in the beautifully cut, bespoke white suit. He thought about taking it off them later, kissing where the seams lay, and burying himself inside them again, until they asked him to finish inside. That was more interesting. Taking care of his baby was more interesting.

The rest of the night might have gone off nearly smoothly, might’ve remained as unmemorable as the ceremony. But Damien couldn’t let things lie.

* * *

Beelzebub was at the bar, getting a sparkling water when a hand closed around their arm. Was Aaron in the loo? Where the hell was Aaron?

“I need to talk to you.”

Damien towered over them, his grip tightened. Not enough to hurt, but enough that they knew he wasn’t going to give them an option. They weren’t scared of him. It didn’t occur to them to be. He was them and they were him and they had quit being afraid of themself a long time ago.

“Alright, calm down. Let’s talk then.”

He dragged them, not comfortably, out a side door of the ballroom, into a quiet hallway that looked like it was primarily used by hotel staff. Beelzebub wrenched their arm from his grip. “Fuck, what’s the citizens’ arrest for?”

“Fuck you,” Damien spat, furious. 

Beelzebub took a step back in surprise. “Excuse me?”

“Fuck you, Bee. Fuck whatever this is.” He gestured to them. Did he mean the suit, or did he just mean them? Or both.

Beelzebub realised then that they hadn’t had a substantive conversation with their twin brother for seven years, not since Gemma arrived on the scene. They realized that maybe their last real conversation where they both might have said what they were feeling might have been well before that. Before Beelzebub changed their name, before Damien…

They swallowed, the truth of their own train of thought threatening to run them down.

Before Damien started being embarrassed of them.

“Is this about the suit?” they asked, standing their ground. 

“Why,” he cried, “do you insist on making everything about yourself?”

Beelzebub barked out a bitter laugh. “So it is about the suit then. Is Gemma afraid someone’s going to think I’m the bride?”

“You can’t even, for one day in my whole life, let something be about me. It’s always got to be about Dr. Beelzebub Prince, Ph.D., who did her thesis in sucking all the goddamn air out of the room.”

He didn’t touch them, but the  _ her _ . That felt like he had shoved them back with both hands. Not enough to shock them, but enough that it left them off-balance.

There, in that service hallway, at their twin brother’s wedding, during the celebration of the union between the person who was ostensibly most like them in this world to some twat named Gemma, things came into sudden and stark clarity. 

They weren’t afraid of him. Maybe they had been at one point, of losing him, of severing a tenuous but important connection to who they thought they were. But when they looked at him, they didn’t recognize the 39-year-old child throwing a tantrum in front of them. A child who couldn’t hide his disappointment and shame at Beelzebub’s audacity to exist. 

“I could’ve worn anything, and I think we’d still be standing here with you losing your goddamn mind,” Beelzebub said slowly, their hands curling to fists at their sides

“What the hell does that mean?” Had his face always gone that red? Beelzebub didn’t recognize him.

“Whenever you ask me to show up to something, you always hope I’ll show up as someone different. I heard it in your voice when I told you about Aaron.” Where the fuck was Aaron? “You hope in your heart of hearts, you and mum and dad when he’s not too drunk to remember his own name, that I will come and be someone more _ palatable _ .”

“That’s not it,” he said, lying. They could always tell when he was lying.

“Fuck off, it absolutely is.” It was unfurling in their chest, decades of all the stuff they had packed down, packed away and had hoped would never surface. “I can count the number of times I’ve seen you in the past five years on one hand, and even though I try to keep out of the way and keep my mouth shut - which is not easy because you all can be so bloody stupid - it’s not enough for you.”

Beez took a deep breath and stared him down. “How much of myself do I have to carve out before I’m invisible enough for you to think I’m not making this about me?”

Beelzebub’s voice had risen. From one end of the hall, from the corner of their eye, they could see hotel staff had stopped, openly watching them. From the other end, the door to the ballroom swung open, and Sam stood there, looking at first relieved, then unsettled as he took in Beelzebub’s and Damien’s expressions.

“They’re over here,” Sam yelled, and in seconds he was joined by Lillith, and Tommy, and finally, Aaron. 

Aaron pushed past all of them, but didn’t come all the way to Beelzebub. He knew they had it handled.

“Look what you’ve done! You’ve made a scene now!” spat Damien.

“Me? I’ve made a scene? I’m not the one who pulled you into a hallway to have it out on my own fucking wedding day, Damien! This is your fucking scene!

Beelzebub took a sharp, all knowing breath. “I don’t make this about me.  _ You _ make this about me.”

Damien breathed heavily. Beelzebub swallowed, relying on Aaron’s sturdy, solid energy present to the side of them, relying on the fact that if Damien came near them, Aaron would probably try to break his neck.

“I cannot believe it’s taken me this long to realize it. But you don’t want me here at all. You want the idea of me. Some twin who is you but less than. Not a person. An idea. I’m not an idea. And I’ll never be small enough for you to find me acceptable.”

Beelzebub’s heart was beating faster than it ever had. “You’re a coward. You can’t love me because you’re a coward. I am who I am. It’s not brave, it just is. But you are terrified of it. You asked me here because you want to think you’re a good person, but you’re scared of me and you don’t want me. You’re not a good person. You’re a coward.”

Coward. No word had ever tasted so sweet.

“I knew who I was, and what I had to do, and I know it now. You don’t have a fucking clue. And one day, you will roll over and you will look at your horrible wife and you will realize you don’t have the life you wanted and you will be too fucking scared to do anything about it. You are a coward, and you will live your whole life in fear.”

That end bit probably wasn’t necessary, but it felt good, and Damien looked stunned.

“We’re done. We’re through. Don’t ever, ever speak to me ever again.” They hadn’t meant to say it, but now that it was out, they knew it was right.

Beelzebub turned and walked past Aaron, who followed behind. 

“Holy fuck,” muttered Tommy, usual spirits dimmed.

Sam or Lilltih, someone, said something to Aaron and he said something back but Beelzebub couldn’t hear it through the ringing in their ears. They pushed the door open to the reception area, made a beeline for the stairs. Aaron’s dedicated footsteps kept time with theirs.

There was an accessible washroom on the landing, and Beelzebub entered. Aaron closed the door behind him, locked it. He turned to look at them, Beelzebub leaning against the counter, their hands holding them up.

For three heavy breaths they watched one another.

“You,” he started, then his face broke into a grin. “You’re incredible. You’re… just fantastic. That was…you have no idea.”

Beelzebub nodded.

“How do you feel?”

Had anyone in their whole life, really asked them how they felt?

“Free,” they said, and they started to laugh. “Really fucking free.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A special thanks to TheFallenCaryatid who provided inspiration in the form of the Pablo Neruda poem Gabriel recites within. Also, massive shout out to the IB Discord server, which is the best Discord there is. You guys are the real heroes.


	12. Chapter 12

Beelzebub let out a bark of laughter then slapped their hand over their mouth. They were sure this was supposed to feel devastating. It was supposed to feel like a piece of themself was missing, as if they’d been untethered and left to float to sea alone. But it wasn’t like that at all. They felt firmly on the ground, whole, and happy in a way that could’ve been characterized as delirious. 

Aaron was staring at them, and his face was all pride and warmth. There was no mask, no show, nothing in the way. Except, technically, the glasses. Which, fuck, they really liked those.

They dropped their hand from their mouth and reached for him and he responded immediately. First, he took their wrist, encircled it entirely with his broad hand and pressed a kiss to the underside of it, where the blue of their veins showed starkly in the fluorescent bathroom light. Then he slotted another hand into the hair on the back of their head and kissed them.

Beelzebub could only describe the sound they made as greedy, thick with need for more. Their hands plotted the topography of his chest, feeling the shape and line of him under his white shirt. They loved his body, and fuck if it didn’t feel relavatory to admit that to themself. His body and the way he kissed them, gentle and questioning even when things got heated. His belief that they were something special.

They loved the absolute seriousness with which he addressed his work, his uncompromising standards and his insistence on following the agenda in meetings. They loved that he was a good driver, that he read the labels on food, that he talked back to the radio. They loved him. 

They needed to feel him now. All of him on them. Everywhere.

Beelzebub pulled his shirt out of the waist of his trousers and Aaron chuckled into their mouth, put his hands on theirs to still them.

Beelzebub whined -  _ whined! _ \- completely without dignity, and tugged at his belt. “Aaron,” they said reproachfully.

“Baby,” he said back, punctuating it with a kiss. “Not here, upstairs.”

“Why not here?” They tugged again, letting one hand slip down to where he’d grown hard between his legs. They slid their palm down every ridiculous inch of him, enjoying the way he gasped and his hips gave the slightest, restrained jerk forward.

“As much as I would love,” he started, taking both their wrists in his hands and holding them to his chest, “to bend you over this counter and bury my face into your beautiful cunt until you scream.” He grinned at Beez’s moan and leaned in to whisper in their ear, “But that suit is white, and it is new and it is not going anywhere near a bathroom floor.”

Before they could argue - and they really wanted to argue - Aaron had unlocked the door and was pulling them out, making a beeline for the bank of lifts. He tucked Beelzebub under his arm, his hand tight on their shoulder. Their arms snaked under his jacket, and they held tight to his waist in naked need, all pretext and pretensions gone. 

They could feel his frantic breathing as the two of them walked quickly to the lift.

“Could you hold that, please,” called Aaron, surprising a middle aged woman in the open lift who’d been looking at her phone. She politely stepped forward and held the door as Aaron and Beelzebub shuffled in.

“Great,” said Aaron. “You’re going to need to get out.”

The woman turned towards them both, eyes wide and incredulous. “I beg your pardon?”

“You need to get out,” he said, in a voice that did not invite questioning, fierce and serious and every bit the leader he could be when he wanted to.

Wordlessly, the woman stepped off, clearly in complete disbelief at the interaction she’d just been part of.

“Sorry,” Aaron called, essentially as an afterthought as the elevator door started to close and the woman stared back.

“He’s not. He’s not sorry,” said Beelzebub with shocked laughter. They felt unhinged in the very best way.

Aaron laughed as the door closed. “I’m really not,” he said, and then he was on them again, broad hands in their hair, his tongue sweeping into their mouth. 

Beelzebub dragged their hands down his chest and made a brief but sloppy effort at the knot in his tie and then abandoned it for his belt, then the zipper of his fly. Their slim hand could fit right inside. When their hand found him, covered by the thin cotton of his boxers Aaron broke the kiss and groaned. They squeezed and he backed them up against the wall, his erection pressing into their stomach.

They looked up at him, his face coloured in pleasure, and smiled. “Your cock’s never been in my mouth,” they said, watching for his reaction.

His cock twitched, throbbed really, in their hand and above their head Aaron braced himself on the wall on his forearm, leaning into it. “Oh, Christ.”

“Would you like to see that? See how much you can fit, how much I can take?” They pushed their hand into the leg of his trousers, palming the entire length of him.

“Jesus fuck,” he stuttered, his voice a pitch higher than it was normally. “Where is this coming from?”

His surprise was warranted. Save that first time they’d been together, Beelzebub hadn’t been much of a talker, relying instead on sensation, feel. But they were fit to burst and couldn’t stop themself.

“You’d love that. You’d love to fuck my little mouth, wouldn’t you?” 

Aaron growled in a strangled sort of way as the lift doors opened onto their floor. As he bent to kiss them again and pull them towards the room, he collided with a table and knocked something to the floor. They both laughed in surprise through the kiss and kept moving, Beelzebub’s hand still in Aaron’s fly. 

After Aaron fell back against the wall of the hallway with a thud, Beelzebub in his arms, someone opened the door to a room, and sputtered an offended, “Excuse me!”

“Fuck off,” Beelzebub and Aaron yelled back almost simultaneously, launching them both into a peel of ecstatic laughter, quickly muffled by another searching kiss.

Finally at the door, Aaron pulled a key out of his pocket and swiped it through the lock. Then they were in. 

Beelzebub heard the door slam then Aaron was pushing their jacket off their shoulders, tossing it onto a chair. For a short heated moment they stood apart, watching one another as they stripped off their clothes. Aaron loosening his tie then pulling it over his head, dropping it to the floor. Beelzebub undoing the buttons of their shirt, fingers moving more quickly than they had at any point of their life prior to this moment.

They were left, both of them, bare, their clothes scattershot around the room where they’d been flung. The frantic energy eased slightly, zeroed in. Beelzebub felt laser focused, aware of what they wanted. And what they wanted was to be pressed against him. They reached up for his shoulders, pulled him down to them.

Was there new depth to this kiss, or were they imagining it? In spite of the electric energy coursing through them, was there some knowledge here that this wasn’t precarious? That he was with them and that it wasn’t a balancing act, one wrong move away from a blow-out or a break-up? They’d chosen him. Did he know?

His hands were on their waist then under their thighs as he picked them up and held them against him. Their thin legs wrapped around his waist best they could. Effortless. He moaned into their mouth then pressed them up against the wall, their back meeting the cool wallpaper.

Beelzebub’s heels pushed into Aaron’s back and they slung their arms around his neck. They liked being held by him, they admitted to themself, loved being in his arms.

“Fuck me like this,” they said, gripping the back of his neck.

He looked into their eyes. “Like this,” he repeated. No upward inflection, but still a question.

Beelzebub nodded, their tongue darted out to wet their lips.

“Do you need…?” His eyes glanced to the bedside table, where the lube was stood up on end, on the cap. They certainly hadn’t left it like that, must’ve been housekeeping. Beelzebub might’ve felt embarrassed if they weren’t sure the housekeepers had seen worse.

“No,” they said decisively.

Aaron opened his mouth to speak and they already knew what he was going to ask.

“I’m sure,” Beelzebub insisted, cutting him off. “I’m ready. Aaron, please.”

He dropped his forehead to theirs, and readjusted, and then he was at their slit, pushing slowly. 

“Fuck,” he whispered with a sharp intake of breath. “Oh, fuck.”

He felt huge. It didn’t matter how ready they were, how slick, they knew he’d always feel like this to them. They relished the sting, the stretch, even when the sensation toed across the line into a painful sting.

“You okay?”

“Don’t stop, love. Don’t stop.”

Their eyes were closed when they said it. They hadn’t meant to, really.  _ Love _ was just the word that came out in the place where his name should have been. Aaron’s hands gripped into them that much tighter when they said it. A breath abruptly stopped then picked up a second later.

When they opened their eyes, he was looking down at them, watching their expression. They brought their hands to the side of his face, then down onto his chest. They didn’t need to help him hold them up. He could do it. He could fuck into them without their help.

And he did. Pushed them back against the wall again and again. He whispered their name, called them his baby, told them he loved being inside them. As he picked up his pace, Beelzebub heard themself moaning, quiet at first then louder, louder, until they jerked their head back and clunked it against the wall.

Aaron sucked in breath in sympathy but Beelzebub pressed their hand to his mouth. Clarity was slipping and they struggled to put the words together in a way that made sense. “Fine, don’t stop, I’m fine. Keep, keep going.”

His hot breath on their palm. They traced his lips with their fingers then dropped their hand to his neck, his pulse strong, pounding.

“I’m - Beez - I’m going to -” His own moan cut him off.

They nodded. Their head collided with the wall again.

“Ah, baby. Baby. Jesus Christ.” With a strangled groan he came, pressing his forehead into theirs. 

His chest rose and fell, heartbeat thrummed. They could feel it. His white-knuckled grip on their thighs, their bottom, softened just a bit. His spine curled to kiss their cheekbone and the side of their neck. With the cessation of movement, the ache between their legs grew less urgent.

They found themself peeled away from the wall, one of Aaron’s arms underneath them, the other steady and firm across their back. He felt so big, and they felt small, and safe, and maybe loved. Maybe that’s what the warmth deep in their belly was.

He laid them out on the bed, and drew out of them. They couldn’t tell if they felt bereft or relieved. Hollow. He was kissing down their neck, collarbone, breasts and stomach.  _ Gentle, _ they wanted to say, _ just soft, I can’t handle more.  _ But they didn’t have to. He knew. Of course he knew.

His fingers stroked them lightly, his tongue pressed into them. Could he taste himself, and them at the same time? The thought could’ve made them choke. Heat surged through them and they were nearly there when his lips sealed on their clit, hummed around the oversensitive nub.

It didn’t take any coaxing. Their orgasm rolled out of them, buzzed through their limbs and they felt weak against it’s tide. It was not rapturous, or life changing. Their life didn’t flash before their eyes. But it was good. It was practiced. He so clearly knew them and the skill at which he could bring them off spoke of a kind of attention and care which still felt so startlingly new. It felt like a promise.

As their muscles relaxed, he moved back up their body, leaving lazy, openmouthed kisses on their skin. He stopped at their mouth. Soft, and very wet, and  _ oh _ . That’s what he tasted like, and that’s what they tasted like together. It was filthy, and intimate, and the most remarkable thing was how they didn’t want to shy away from it or run.

They wanted to sink into him, to find a home in his body. To let him care for them. It didn’t have to mean that they were weak, or less, or needy. It just meant that he knew how to do it, and maybe that was enough. Maybe it could work.

Aaron looked down at them, and sighed contentedly. His broad hand stroked their side. This was better than any stupid wedding, than any half-baked thing called ‘family.’

* * *

Aaron handed his ticket to the valet. Beelzebub was checking out inside. He was certain they’d argue about the pricing at the minibar which had been clearly and obviously stated, but that they’d deemed ridiculous, as they’d cracked open a can of Diet Coke from within the night before. He knew them enough now to know they wouldn’t pay £4 for a can of soda.

His limbs were loose, shoulders down. The last two days had felt both very long, and very short. But he was calm, more sure now than he’d ever been. Happy, even. It wasn’t an uncomplicated happiness, but he’d take it all the same.

From behind him, someone cleared their throat. He turned. Damien, looking like he’d had the shit kicked out of him. Hungover from the wedding, wrestling with his own demons all night? Aaron didn’t really care, and he really didn’t like that the asshole had the audacity to approach him and ask him for his attention.

“What?” Aaron said, not turning towards Damien fully, still angled towards the valet stand.

Damien took a deep breath, seemingly steeling himself for what he was about to say. “I love Bee but there’s something you should know about them.”

Aaron had absolutely no time for this. “Buddy, how about you -”

“Bee has a chip on their shoulder. Massive chip. And I get it, I do. They drew the short straw a lot.” Damien cut Aaron off, his closed fists tapping his thighs nervously. “I’ve known them my whole life and I just watched them get angrier and angrier.”

Aaron turned away from him, willed the valet kid to come back. He wondered if there was a staircase in the vicinity he could push Damien down and make it look like an accident.

“They don’t know how to be happy. They don’t let people in. I genuinely don’t understand what the hell you guys have going on, but you need to know what’s going to happen between the two of you. You will think they let you in and then they will kick you out. Knock the breath right the fuck out of you. Because they don’t care about people. Not the way you’re supposed to.”

Maybe there was a grain of truth to this, Aaron thought. Maybe there was a grain of truth because Beelzebub had a family that had made them feel they were so aberrant and unlovable that any affection was suspect. But not anymore, not if he had anything to do with it. 

“Are you done?” Aaron asked, glaring back at Damien.

Damien’s face went pink. “You seem like a nice guy. Just thought you should know the score,” he sputtered.

“Let’s make one thing perfectly clear,” said Aaron, turning to Damien and standing at his full height. He was taller than Damien, not by much, but he was sober and relatively well rested and well fucked and he thought that made a difference. “I’m not nice. I’m not a _ nice guy _ .”

He sucked his teeth and swallowed back the rage that threatened to slip out into the space between them. “The thing keeping me from grinding your face into the concrete right now isn’t that I’m nice, it’s that you’d still be here when Beez got back, and I don’t want them to have to lay their eyes on you.”

Aaron wanted to say so much more, to excoriate Damien for his shitty wedding, his bad taste in friends, for the fucking chutzpah he displayed by even thinking he could speak to Aaron in the first place. But Beez was going to be here any second, and Damien didn’t exist to them anymore, and Aaron wanted to keep it that way.

“Leave,” he spat. “Before I make you leave.”

Something in Aaron’s voice rocked Damien and he took a step back, eyes wide. “Is that a threat.”

Aaron laughed without humour. “Of course it’s a threat. What did you think it was? An invitation to a tea party?”

Damien shook his head and started away from the hotel, towards the street. “You’re both fucked up, you know that? Completely mental.”

Aaron smiled tightly, sarcastically. Waved. Wondered where his God-damned car was.

He heard chattering from a distance and turned to see Beelzebub coming down the stairs, accompanied by Tommy, Lillith and Sam. He checked back over his shoulder for Damien, and he was gone.

“Then she did the father-daughter dance to that awful John Mayer song. I was embarrassed for her, I was. Who even does that anymore? Father-daughter dance?” Lillith was pontificating as she came down the stairs, looking wholly more relaxed than she had in the previous two days.

Beez was lighting a cigarette, in spite of the fact that the hotel portico had no-smoking signs liberally scattered around. 

“I’m always embarrassed for Gemma,” said Tommy, looking pleased with himself. “Did you catch a glimpse of her this morning? Head-to-toe Cath Kidston. Tragic.”

“Why do we hate Gemma?” asked Aaron as the group reached him. He also hated Gemma, of course, but had honestly left the weekend with no real impression of her whatsoever.

“She’s a twat,” said Lillith immediately.

“A bitch,” said Beelzebub right after.

“And,” exclaimed Tommy, “she’s dull, which is almost worse. If you’re going to be a bitch at least be interesting. Give me one of those.” He flicked his fingers in Beez’s face in a way that made Aaron want to slap Tommy’s hand down, but Beez wasn’t bothered. They pulled out a cigarette, placed it between Tommy’s lips in a way that almost looked caring, and lit it for him.

“Thank you,” he said, taking a long drag. “I love you.”

“Yep,” replied Beez, and the corner of their mouth quirked into a smile.

As the chatter continued between the siblings, Aaron watched Beez, the easy roll of their shoulders, the jut of their hip. They laughed. His chest tightened. He wanted to take them away from here but not from this, these little joys they got from a moment of comradery.

The car swung around and the hotel staff set to putting their baggage in the trunk. 

Sam came up beside him and extended a hand. Aaron took it.

“Nice to meet you, at any rate, in spite of it all. Maybe because of, actually. Not sure yet. Suspect we’ll find out in the next little bit.” Sam was watching Beez and Lillith say goodbye. Not hugging, but talking closely, Beez trying to blow their smoke over their shoulder.

“It was an experience,” Aaron replied.

“Perhaps we’ll see you around, then?” Sam smiled. Sam was nice. Aaron wasn’t nice, but Sam was.

Aaron cleared his throat, nodded at Beelzebub. “It’s up to them.” He felt some of the blood drain out of his face at how open his voice was, how obvious he’d made himself. 

“Yeah,” said Sam quietly. “Looks like it.”

“Are you analysing me?” asked Aaron with sarcasm, trying to cover his own brief mortification.

Sam turned his face up to him, eyes glinting. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” He was definitely analysing him.

“Stop it,” said Aaron, brows furrowed.

Sam laughed. “Alright, mate. Safe drive back, yeah?” He patted Aaron firmly on the shoulder, almost fondly, which was a gesture Aaron was not used to.

The valet brought the car around and he and Beez got in. He was going to ask them to set up the GPS. but they took the phone from his hand and did it without him asking. Their small fingers moved across the screen as Tommy leaned in the open window. His dark eyes trailed Aaron’s form for a quick second, then he looked to his sibling.

“He really is very fit,” said Tommy with a sigh.

“I’m sitting right here,” said Aaron at the same time that Beez said, “Shut up. Fuck’s sake.”

Tommy grabbed Beez’s hand as he leaned back from the car, held it for a moment. Beez stared at the fingers wrapped around theirs until he let go, stepped back. “You’re truly an inspiration,” he said in a way that almost sounded sincere.

Beelzebub waved half-heartedly and rolled up the window. Aaron pulled away and onto the city streets. They placed Aaron’s phone in the stand, angled it so he could see it.

“Thanks,” he said.

“No problem,” they replied.

* * *

The drive back was quiet, but not in a strained way. Beelzebub’s hand felt warm where Tommy had held it. Lillith’s last invitation rang in their ears. “If you’re in York, you’ll come see us, won’t you?”

Beelzebub had shrugged. They were never in York, and Lillith hadn’t asked them to come visit, not really. She’d just sort of left the door unlocked. Maybe that was enough.

Could this hold, Beelzebub wondered. Could this cautious warmth between themself and Tommy and Lillith (and by extension, Sam) be maintained without the fuel that was Damien’s boorishness and their parents’ dismissiveness, or were they only knit together in the face of a common enemy, and fit to unspool in its absence? That remained to be seen.

They’d be fine, regardless, Beelzebub thought. They’d gone a long time without phone calls or birthday cards, holiday get-togethers. If Lillith and Tommy fell through, things would just be like they were before, and that had been fine.

Aaron cleared his throat beside them and they looked up at him. “What?”

His eyes glanced sideways at them, then back to the road. “Nothing!”

“You cleared your throat.”

He chuckled. “I had an itch. Can’t a man clear his throat in his own car? Jesus Christ.”

Beelzebub smiled and looked back at the road. Two months ago that sentence would have been delivered to them with an angry bite behind it, a not entirely misplaced aggression. Now it was sarcastic but fond.

He wanted to be seen with them. He’d said as much before the weekend had even started, as he’d held them in his lap on the side of the road. He’d bought them a suit to the tune of several hundred pounds without blinking. He’d recited poetry to them, which wasn’t their style and honestly, didn’t feel like his either, but it had still made their heart do something death-defying in their chest as he had spoken it and held their ankle in his hand.

If their family fell away again after this, then they’d manage. But if Aaron decided that this wasn’t what he was interested in afterall, that he had to stretch himself too far for them, adjust too drastically to suit their needs… They needed to know now. The mere thought that he might change his mind left them feeling empty, ugly, hard-hearted. Where would three more weeks leave them? Two months?

For the last hour in the car, they stewed and bit their nails, until Aaron reached over and took the hand at their mouth in his, engulfed it with a wide palm, long fingers.

“Don’t do that,” he muttered. “Bad habit.”

Soft, but firm. They let him hold their hand in their lap until he had to shift gears.

It was dinnertime by the time they got back. Still light out. There was time to make something to eat if they had anything in the fridge, throw a load of laundry in. Aaron brought their suitcase inside, and left it in the bedroom. He didn’t take off his jacket, or his shoes. He lingered by the door, as if waiting for Beelzebub to dismiss him.

“So,” they muttered. They reached around to nervously tug at the shirt at the back of their neck. “Thanks for this weekend. Everything.”

“Do you think you’ll wear that suit again?” he asked, watching them as they paced nervously.

Beelzebub shrugged. “Maybe. White’s not really my colour.”

He huffed out a small laugh. “I think it might be. Sometimes. You looked good.” He paused, smiled to himself. “You looked great.”

As they looked up at him, they tried to imagine a moment where he’d be less than honest with them, a time when he had led them in the wrong direction. He hadn’t. 

He’d been an asshole once or twice. Well, more than that. He yelled. His colleagues didn’t like him. He was pedantic and self absorbed and wielded his wallet like it was a weapon. 

There was no one else they’d rather be with, sleep beside, fight with, snark with at events neither of them wanted to be with, text under the table at all-department meetings. There was no one they’d rather fuck, mark papers with, eat lunch with every sodding day. 

But before that, before they could lower their shield and sign the treaty, they needed to put forward their terms. 

“I won’t, ah…” Beelzebub realized they’d said nearly this same thing before, one day prior, to a very different person. “I won’t butcher myself for anyone, you understand?”

His face immediately grew serious. “What?” He looked mildly offended to be on the end of this lecture, but they couldn’t leave it to chance. For too long so much of their life had been unspoken, and now they were pushing forty and they had seen too much to not make absolutely sure that they were both on the same page.

“I can’t cut out parts of myself to be someone different. This is it. This weekend, you saw…”  _ You saw what that did to me.  _ Their voice cracked, a first. “I can’t…it kills me. It took me so long to build this life and I can’t be anyone else in it.”

Aaron studied them, his brow knit together. He took a sharp inhale of breath. “What are you saying?”

“Just that…” Their hand came up and tapped their chest. “This is it, right? This is what you get with me. Don’t hold out hope that I’ll change or whatever.”

He exhaled, almost grinned. “Beez. I’d do anything for you, you know that, right? Anything you wanted.”

His earnestness caught them off guard and they laughed in discomfort.

Aaron’s grin slipped and he licked his lips. “I’m serious.”

“Jesus, are you offering to have someone killed?” A joke, old territory. Even now they couldn’t resist it with him.

“I would if you asked.” The smile on his lips didn’t have much humour, but he was clearly trying to match their tone. “I know a guy.”

Beelzebub snorted. “You wish you knew a guy.”

Aaron laughed then swallowed it back. He put his hand up. “Stop. Just for a second, alright? Let’s…let’s cut the crap.” His eyes were on their face and they thought they knew what was coming but they weren’t sure. He was by the door in his jacket, and they were in the middle of their sitting room. Ten feet apart. His gaze stopped their pacing, froze them in place.

“I’m in love with you.” And there it was, in the world, from his lips to their ears, to their entire body. “Even the hateful parts. I’m in love with you. All of it. I don’t want you to cut out anything. You’re exactly how I want you.” 

Their quick tongue had abandoned them. Gone off somewhere leaving them wordless, breathless. No one had ever…Their face felt numb. Were they smiling? Aaron was. Not a high voltage shining thing but something quieter and more contained. Still extremely sure of itself. He would be.

“Okay?” he asked.

Beelzebub licked their lips, stumbled over all the words they wanted to say. Against their raging heart, they couldn’t get them in the right order, so instead they just repeated his word back to him. “Okay.” 

He finally broke eye contact. Looked at the floor and then back up to them. He didn’t look upset, or angry. There was no confusion to him, as if he had predicted this. “I’m going to go home, do some work,” he said, like this was what he had planned. “C’mere, baby.”

The request startled them out of their stillness and they crossed the floor to him at a leisurely pace, dictated more by their shaking knees than any sort of nonchalance. He was so tall in front of them, but his size wasn’t intimidating now. 

He leaned down to kiss them, his hands on either side of their head, in their hair. They held onto his wrists. Slow and safe.

He pulled away. “I’ll see you at lunch tomorrow.” Not a question or an invitation. An eventuality. 

Beelzebub nodded. He rubbed his thumb over their cheek, and winked at them as he left.

When the door closed, Beelzebub fell against it, pressed their back into the solid wood. With sharp clarity, all sensation came back to their body and their face split into a grin so wide and unfamiliar it stung. 

* * *

“Hi.”

Aaron was startled out of his project. He’d been focused, in the zone. He’d sunk his teeth into some teaching reviews and the papers had nearly slipped out of his hands when the door to his office had flown open, Beelzebub looking both serious and wild-eyed in the frame. 

They were wearing the white suit.

“Hi,” he said, the smile creeping to his eyes if not his lips. “Is it noon already?” He looked at his watch and was mildly surprised. 10. Hours before he expected them.

Beelzebub took a step forward. From behind them, Elizabeth rolled over in her desk chair, eyebrows high on her forehead, amused. She grabbed the door handle and shut it. Beez didn’t seem to notice.

“Yesterday,” they said, and the word somehow encompassed everything that had passed between them.

He tossed the teaching reviews to the side and stood up. “Yesterday.”

“No one’s ever said that to me before.”

They didn’t seem pained by the admission, so Aaron chose not to be either. Chose to instead feel proud of himself for being the first one to figure it out, the first person to know what loving Beelzebub Prince felt like. 

“Aaron, I…” They paused, and took a breath. They smiled. Really smiled, in a way that turned him inside out. 

He moved around the desk to stand in front of them. He considered going to his knees, and decided against it. Too dramatic, and the truth of it was they towered over him anyway. 

“I love you.”

His hand went to the back of their neck.

“And you’re exactly how I want you...too.”

He pressed his mouth to theirs, insistent and pleading. It might’ve not been the first time someone had said it to him, but fuck if it wasn’t the best time. Fuck if it wasn’t the only time that mattered. Aaron pulled Beelzebub to him, pressed their body to his.

“Even if you’re the biggest dick on campus,” they laughed into his mouth and he broke the kiss and chuckled against their temple, his hand sliding up into their hair. They were his, or he was theirs. Probably the latter. 

Definitely the latter.

Beez tilted their head back, dark green eyes open and peering up, as if memorizing his face. “I’m in love with you,” they said, and Aaron Gabriel was done for.

“Okay,” he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I wear a lot of Cath Kidston, so please consider Tommy's comment re: Gemma a solid self-burn.)


	13. Epilogue

_ Passing stranger! you do not know how longingly I look upon you,  
_ _ You must be he I was seeking, or she I was seeking, (it comes to me as of a dream,)  
_ _ I have somewhere surely lived a life of joy with you,  
_ _ All is recall'd as we flit by each other, fluid, affectionate, chaste, matured, _

_ You grew up with me, were a boy with me or a girl with me,  
_ _ I ate with you and slept with you, your body has become not yours only nor left my body mine only, _

I said we should get married and you looked at me like I’d grown horns. You shook your head, asked me if I was having a midlife crisis. I brought it up again months later and I thought you might throw your back out rolling your eyes at me. 

“Listen,” you said, “I’m not going anywhere. Why do you want to get married all of a sudden?”

I let it drop.

There are things I want to tell you. I want to have the excuse to do it. To have it signed off and notarized.

I want to say that in every relationship there’s a settler and a reacher. I think about all that stuff we fought about in the beginning, and then not at the beginning. All that shit that people thought and said. 

People thought that you were reaching, which is patently ridiculous. I know the truth, and I think you do too, which is that it was always me, reaching for you. Still is, always will be. You come to my office every day and even though it’s been years it still feels like a favour.

I want to tell you that on those days I wake up next to you I feel like God’s favoured child. When I kiss you I am being rewarded. When I am inside you I know somewhere I did something right.

One time you said to me that the “stuff of human life is ugly” and I never forgot it.

The ugliest truth of my life is that I have never loved anyone, anything like I love you. Always and always. My life makes the most sense when I am yours. 

It’s ugly because I live in fear that you will wake up and when you see me you will not feel favoured but mistaken. Like you could do better. I never felt like anyone I was with could do better, but I know you could. I have never been a man afraid, but the possibility of life without you makes my blood run cold.

I hate that you keep the cottage. I hate that you go to conferences on your own because you want to focus. I hate the field work that takes you away from me for weeks on end and leaves me drifting from room to room hoping that you’ll somehow appear.

I have never needed anyone, but fuck, do I need you.

When did I love you? Before I knew you, maybe. It doesn’t matter. It’s all I know, now.

I want to say these things to you when you will hear them, instead of whispering them into the dark, when you are asleep.

You are my little tower. Let me sit at your feet.

_ You give me the pleasure of your eyes, face, flesh, as we pass, you take of my beard, breast, hands, in return,  
_ _ I am not to speak to you, I am to think of you when I sit alone or wake at night alone,  
_ _ I am to wait, I do not doubt I am to meet you again,  
_ __ I am to see to it that I do not lose you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poem in the epilogue is Walt Whitman’s _To a Stranger._

**Author's Note:**

> Pretend to be Nice was named for the best song in the world's best teen film, _Josie & the Pussycats_ (2001). The song, which you should listen to as it is a timeless bop, was written by Adam Schlesinger, who passed away April 1, 2020. Thanks, sir, for the wee bit of inspiration.
> 
> Thanks for coming on this journey with me and my two large, terrible, fictional children. This was supposed to be a 10k one-shot with some hate sex and then it wasn’t. That anyone read this to start with made me keep at it.
> 
> Thanks to summerofspock for her cheerleading, enthusiasm, and excellent beta work from the beginning. You’re brilliant.
> 
> Things are weird. Stories are good. ‘Til next time.
> 
> [tumblr](https://bestoftheseekwill.tumblr.com/)/[twitter](https://twitter.com/_seekwill)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [NB](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24268336) by [gypsyweaver](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gypsyweaver/pseuds/gypsyweaver)




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